The Third Option - 2013 Redux
by moonmama
Summary: A story about love and parenthood and all the baggage that comes along with it. Lots of fics have dealt with what would've happened if Lorelai had married Christopher when she got pregnant. This story deals with Luke's 'what if'.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: A story about love and parenthood and all the baggage that comes along with it.

Lots of fics have dealt with what would've happened if Lorelai had married Christopher when she got pregnant. This story deals with Luke's 'what if'.

A/N: Some years later, I'm finally coming back to address the issues with this story. I'll be revising the whole thing, chapter by chapter, but in particular I'll be adding some meat to the ending.

* * *

It's just another day.

Usually, change in our lives unfolds slowly. Morning, noon, night, we set our patterns of daily life, our routines to structure our days each one like the one before, and it's only after weeks, months, years have passed that we can look back and see what's different. A seed planted, a new book read, a chance encounter with a stranger or a long-lost friend;  
the things that enrich our lives and make us embrace each passing moment aren't the events that come and hit us over the head. Rather, real change has a tendency to creep up on us, to niggle around in our thoughts like a grain of yeast added to a vat of grape juice, insignificant but ready to transform everything around it, ever so gradually.

It's just another day, but entirely unlike any day that's come before it.

* * *

"Rory! Your chariot awaits, milady!" Lorelai calls, standing outside the Independence Inn. It's a crisp November morning, cold enough that she can see her breath as she shoves her hands in her pockets and shivers.

Rory emerges from the Inn and comes barreling down the walkway to meet the school bus, her backpack bouncing back & forth with each step.

"Off for another day of making the other 3rd graders feel completely inadequate?" Lorelai asks, fluffing her daughter's hair affectionately.

Rory rolls her eyes.

"You might want to hold off on giving Mrs. Johnson any more grammar lessons, though," Lorelai cautions. "At least for today. They might kick you out of school, and then I'd have to homeschool you and you wouldn't learn anything except Bangles lyrics and lines from Brat Pack movies, and nothing whatsoever that will help get you into Harvard."

"I don't think they can kick me out, it's public school." Rory replies. "Besides she totally messed up 'I-T-S' vs. 'I-T-apostrophe-S'."

"Just call you Little Man Gilmore."

"Bye Mom," Rory says, giving her a hug and turning to board the bus.

Lorelai waves to her as the bus pulls away, then turns to head back into the Inn. She makes her way into the kitchen and grabs a cookie off a nearby tray as she scans the room. Then she spots a pot of coffee left unattended on a counter and starts to pour herself a cup.

"Lorelai," says a stern voice behind her.

_Damn_. She'd thought he was in the pantry. She stops pouring and turns to face an older gentleman in a chef's outfit. She clasps a fist to her chest pleadingly. "David, just a little…"

"Does this look like a soup kitchen?" he demands, hands on hips.

"Well, it's a kitchen…and Sookie mentioned something about gazpacho…" Lorelai says playfully.

"If you can't stop helping yourself to food in here, I'm going to have to talk to Mia about having it deducted from your pay."

"David, I swear I was just going to have a tiny sip of coffee…"

"That is Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee and it costs $50 a pound," David scolds.

Lorelai's eyes widen. "$50 a pound? David, I can get better coffee from the _vending machine_at the truckstop. You're going to have Mia going broke on mediocre coffee when you could buy it from Starbucks at half the price and it would probably serve just as well. Better, even." She breaks off and glances around the room. "Hey, is Sookie here yet? Last night she said something about blintzes..."

David gives an annoyed sigh. "Lorelai, much as you hate hearing it, you are not in charge here and neither is Sookie. Now I suggest you go find Mia, she was looking for you a little while ago."

"Oh, please, David, just a muffin? I didn't have time for breakfast this morning, I overslept. I was up late paying tribute to River Phoenix. _My Own Private Idaho, The Mosquito Coast_…" she sighs wistfully. "A genius cut off in his youth."

David raises an eyebrow. "And this is supposed to make me feel sorry for you?"

She switches tactics. "Come on, I can't resist those chocolate chip muffins, they're the best I've ever tasted, and that's really saying something. My mother once fired her cook because he served her a muffin with only three chocolate chips in it." She waggles a finger at him. "Now _that_is a woman who knows her muffins, and she taught me everything I know. And if you give me one, well who knows? I may just happen to discover that we have a free room here, the weekend of your wedding anniversary…" Lorelai bats her eyelashes at him flirtatiously.

David grudgingly hands her a muffin.

Lorelai bites into it, grabs a plate to catch the crumbs and heads out into the lobby. She finds Mia behind the desk, going over the next day's reservations. "Hey Mia," she greets her boss. "I heard you were looking for me?"

"We're overbooked," Mia informs her, tapping a pen on the reservation book.

Lorelai frowns. "What? That's impossible."

"See for yourself," Mia insists. "December 18th, 19th and 20th, we're over capacity."

Lorelai examines the page closely. "Mia, I don't know how this happened," she insists, with a shake of her head. "I _can_tell you that things have been getting confused here lately. Between Audra and me taking reservations during the day, and Sue's been doing some too lately when Audra and I have been too busy on other things, and Tobin's been taking them at night, I swear I've never seen so many Post-Its in my life. We're single-handedly keeping 3M in business."

"Exactly my point," Mia informs her. "Lorelai, you've been helping out with some event planning recently. Have you been enjoying it?"

Lorelai brightens. "Are you kidding me? After living through sixteen years of Emily Gilmore's events, the worst bridezilla you can throw at me is still a walk in the park."

Mia nods. "Lorelai, I'd like to put you on event planning full-time."

"Who's going work the desk?"

"I'm going to hire someone new. We've got too many people splitting their time in five different directions, we need someone dedicated to the desk. What do you think? If you'd prefer, you can have that job and I'll hire someone for event planning."

Lorelai ponders for a moment, tapping her fingers on the desk. "I think I'll stick with event planning," she decides. "It's a lot of fun spending other people's money and watching crazy family feuds that I'm not involved in for a change."

"Good," Mia replies. "Because we have a couple coming here shortly who are interested in having their wedding here. I'm going to have you meet with them. They'll want a tour of the facilities, an explanation of the services we offer, and an idea of the costs involved. You've sat in on these before, are you comfortable with this?"

"More comfortable than a velour jogging suit," Lorelai assures her.

"Audra will be available if anything comes up that you're unsure of. You'll do fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to call the newspaper about a help-wanted ad."

* * *

Lorelai spends the next hour brushing up on weddings in general, and the Independence Inn's offerings in particular. Accommodations, food, drink, entertainment, decorations, color schemes, religious vs. secular ceremonies, the range of choices are staggering, and Lorelai is beginning to wonder if she did, indeed, make the best choice with Mia. After all, it's not like she has any real experience with weddings.

"Physician, heal thyself," she mutters to herself as the front door opens and a young couple enters.

The woman, presumably the bride-to-be, appears to be about the same age as Lorelai, dark-haired, very pretty. She's carrying a baby. Lorelai extends a hand to greet her, prompting her to shift the child to her other hip in order to free up her right hand. "Welcome to the Independence Inn," Lorelai smiles. "May I help you?"

"We have an appointment, we're interested in having our wedding here," the woman replies. She's looking all around the room with a discerning eye; not critical, necessarily, but the way her gaze sweeps slowly in all directions indicates an attention to detail beyond the ordinary. She won't be insurmountable, but she will be a challenge. That much is clear right away.

"It's nice to meet you," Lorelai says. She shifts her attention and her hand over to the groom, who's hanging back behind his partner. "I'm Lorelai, I'll be showing you around."

He nods and grunts out a perfunctory, "Hey," as he gives her hand a polite, but very brief shake.

He doesn't want to be here; that much is clear immediately; by the way his eyes wander, by the way he hangs back from his bride-to-be deferentially. And then there's the way he's dressed – in jeans, a flannel shirt and backwards baseball cap, better suited for going fishing than visiting an elegant Inn. This man doesn't have the slightest interest in making an impression.

But that's really not _that_unusual, she reminds herself. She's been involved in enough weddings here to know that most grooms want these proceedings to be over with as quickly as possible.

Still. She studies him a moment longer, trying to discern if he's just the usual disinterested groom, or if he isn't just a little bit more impatient, more grouchy than most.

"I'm Anna Nardini," the bride offers. "This is April," she says, indicating the baby, "and this is my fiancé, Luke Danes."

Luke nods at her, meeting her gaze in a flash of blue. He pushes his hands into his pockets, glances away over her shoulder and that's it; he's gone again.

Lorelai takes a breath and begins. "OK, well I just need to ask you a few questions to get started, and then we'll take a tour. So let's start out with the basics: when is the big date?"

"June 11th," Anna replies.

"And do you plan to have the ceremony at a church, or would you want to do it here?"

They reply simultaneously, oppositely.

"Church," says Anna.

"Here," says Luke.

"Undecided," Lorelai says, not missing a beat, as she makes notes on her clipboard. "Now can I assume from this little one's presence here," Lorelai tickles April under the chin, "that you will be having children at the wedding?"

They both nod.

"And approximately how many guests do you plan to have?"

Anna jumps in here. "About 200," she replies.

Luke's eyes widen and he gulps like he's got something large stuck in his throat, but Lorelai pretends not to notice. "OK," she continues, scribbling more notes, "so I'll just take a few minutes to show you around. Please feel free to ask any questions that might come to mind."

"Actually, before we get into that," Anna interjects as Lorelai leads them into the dining room. "I need a spot to change a diaper." She indicates April, who's still balanced on her hip.

"Well, you could do it on one of the tables here if you wanted to violate about 53 health codes," Lorelai jokes, "Or you could go in there." She points towards the bathroom.

"Thanks," says Anna, and disappears through the door.

Luke watches her go and fidgets uncomfortably, rubbing at his face and pacing aimlessly, a few steps here, a few steps there. "We'll try to keep this short," Lorelai assures him.

"What?" he turns to her like she's just woke him up.

"The tour," she explains. "It's usually pretty painful for the groom, having to listen to reams of information on coordinating bridesmaid dresses with napkins, and where the bride can go to touch up her makeup, and what Julia Roberts wore at her wedding."

He waves a hand at her. "I won't be listening."

It's meant to be nonchalant, the way he says it; Lorelai can tell that much, but here and now, in this setting it just doesn't work. He ends up coming off as abrupt and abrasive.

Still, she maintains the polite, businesslike façade "Ah, smart man," she observes, "Letting the bride make all the decisions."

He gives an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, the only reason I'm here is so she can delude herself into thinking we did this together. Me, I don't see why we can't just get a Justice of the Peace and do it in the living room."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Rhett Butler."

"What?" Luke frowns.

"Sorry, just a little joke," Lorelai apologizes. "Actually I'd say about 80% of the grooms who come through here say pretty much the same thing." They don't, really. Not _that_many. But she's trying to make him feel comfortable. "But you know," she continues, "Miss Manners says the whole problem with marriage today is that couples don't go through rigorous enough engagement periods. It's supposed to be a trial by fire. She even provides a list of things to fight about. I can dig you up a copy if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary," Luke rolls his eyes and that's when Anna reappears, leading April by the hand as she toddles along next to her mother.

"She's tired of being held," Anna explains. "She was squirming so much I was afraid I'd drop her."

April tugs at Anna's hand, anxious to explore the dining room. Anna turns to go with her, and Lorelai follows them further into the dining room. "So this is our dining area," she narrates. "It's the perfect size for 200 guests. Some smaller weddings get swallowed up in here, but 150-200 usually works really well. The band can set up over here," Lorelai indicates the far side of the room, "and the head table can go there."

April chooses that moment to break away from Anna's grasp and run across the room. Anna chases after her, picks her up and comes back over to where Lorelai and Luke are standing.

But the squirming doesn't end. April is trying to escape her mother's grasp as if her life depends on it. "Sorry," Anna apologizes as she sets April back down on her feet. "She's an incredibly curious little girl. They had to do an extra round of babyproofing at her daycare, just for her."

"She climbs, too," Luke interjects, nodding towards April, who has once again broken away from Anna to climb onto a chair next to one of the dining tables, and then onto the table itself. There's a glass on the table that she looks at most curiously, as if contemplating whether to try drinking out of it like a big girl, or to see what happens if she throws it on the floor. Luke hurries over to retrieve her and brings her back over to Lorelai and Anna. "I'm taking her outside," he says, extending his hand for Anna to give him April's coat. "This is obviously pointless."

"We can reschedule if you'd like," Lorelai offers.

"Like when she's eighteen?" Anna rolls her eyes. "No, it's OK. We've both seen the place now, I can go over the details with him later."

Luke puts April's coat on her and departs outside.

Anna turns to smile at Lorelai with a sigh of relief. "I feel about 700 pounds lighter now. I can actually have a grownup conversation without interruption."

Lorelai laughs. "Oh, I remember those days. You can't let them out of your sight for a moment or they'll pick up stones, or eat dog poop, or completely rip apart your favorite teddy bear."

"April's thing is climbing," Anna replies. "I have a grand piano that's pushed up against the back of the couch. She uses the couch as a step to climb up onto the top of the piano."

Lorelai laughs knowingly.

"Do you have kids?" Anna asks her.

"Just one. She's nine," Lorelai replies.

Anna's eyes widen. "You don't look nearly old enough…" she begins.

"I'm not," Lorelai interjects. "And I'll tell you, it was quite memorable being fitted for a retainer right after my prenatal exam. I also remember being pretty mad that none of the maternity stores carried Madonna lace tops."

Anna laughs appreciatively. "Where's her father? I mean, are you…you know…married?"

"No, I'm not ready for that institution yet," Lorelai shakes her head. "Her dad is…well…he's here and there."

"I'm sorry," Anna says. "That must be hard."

"Rory makes it easy," Lorelai replies before returning to the matter at hand. "Now, I'll just show you our private dressing area for bridal parties, we'll go up and see the guest quarters, and then we can go out back in case you want to do an outdoor wedding."

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

It's been seven years now that Lorelai has called Stars Hollow home, yet in many ways she still feels like a stranger here. Certainly not more so than she did when she lived with Emily and Richard, of course; the house where she grew up was never really a home. This one-room garden shed is more comfortable and more _hers_ than anywhere she's ever lived. The staff at the Independence Inn are more of a family to her than her real family.

Which, in a way, is fortunate because she seldom ventures away from the place. She's been living in self-imposed poverty for so long that she hardly remembers any other way of life. All extra cash is quickly stashed away in the bank as she saves up for the day when she can buy a house for herself and Rory. Comfortable as the garden shed may be, a house with separate bedrooms – a house that she could call her own – would be even better.

So she avoids temptation. She wears years' old clothes and mends them when they rip. She almost never eats out, and vacations are unheard-of. She avoids the shops downtown, and consequently here she is, seven years later, completely lost in the middle of her own home town.

She's looking for a diner that's nowhere to be found.

The Nardini-Danes wedding has been confirmed, the date has been reserved, and now Lorelai needs to collect a deposit from them, and go over some preliminary details. Anna had suggested that they meet at a diner in town. Apparently Luke owns the place, though quite honestly Lorelai has trouble picturing him at work in any sort of customer-service capacity.

She scans the row of stores one more time: Doose's Market, Al's Pancake World, Williams Hardware, Weston's Bakery, Kim's Antiques…

There's no diner.

Finally she decides to ask. She gestures to a passerby, an older woman, blond, short and a bit plump. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Luke's Diner?" The woman is pulling a wagon behind her with…is that a _cat_ in it?

"Right in front of you, sugar," the woman replies, pointing directly across the stereo.

Lorelai shakes her head, feeling helpless. "I'm sorry, I must be having a Ray Charles moment." Clearly this woman thinks the diner is as obvious as Prince Charles' ears. "I'm not seeing it."

"Oh, I'm sorry sugar," the woman apologizes, giving Lorelai's arm a squeeze. "I always forget – it's under the 'Williams Hardware' sign. See the little sign below that says 'Luke's?'"

_Finally_ she sees it, although it requires the likes of the Hubble Telescope to read the lettering. "Thank you," she says to the woman.

"Oh, and could you do me a favor?" the other woman adds. "Tell Luke that I'll be by in about an hour, if he could throw together a turkey club for me?" She turns and hurries off in the opposite direction, and it's only when she's fully out of sight that Lorelai realizes she hasn't gotten the woman's name, and now she has to _describe_ the crazy-cat-in-a-wagon lady to Luke.

She crosses the street, walks up the steps to the diner and enters. The place is smallish, only about ten tables or so plus a counter. The walls are adorned – some might say cluttered – with random pictures and knickknacks. The place is about half full.

There's no sign of Anna yet. She makes her way over to the counter and cranes her neck, searching for Luke in the back.

"ES IST ZEIT FÜR IHRE MEDIKAMENTE."

She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of someone behind her, speaking loudly in German. She turns around to see who it is, and spots a man, sitting alone at a table wearing a pair of headphones, a portable cassette player on the table in front of him. He's skinny, with wide eyes that look perpetually overwhelmed. Though Lorelai doesn't speak a word of the language herself, she can still hear how fragmented that phrase was. Clearly his command of the language is shaky.

"Kirk, if you don't turn that damn thing off I'm going to take a sledgehammer to it." Ah, there's Luke. He emerges from the kitchen, stalking like he's about to scold a disobedient child.

She shifts into professional mode and greets him with a smile. "Hello, Mr. Danes," she begins. "Um, there was a woman outside who asked me to ask you to have a turkey club ready for her in about an hour?" She glances around as if hoping to spot her. "Sorry, I didn't get her name. She was blonde, a little bit older. She was, uh, pulling a wagon with a cat in it."

Luke frowns at her. "Who the hell are you and why are you placing orders for Babette?"

She has a sudden urge to see the aforementioned sledgehammer connect with Luke's head, but she bites her tongue, silently counts to three, and politely replies, "I'm Lorelai, remember? From the Independence Inn?"

"Oh, right," he replies, waving vaguely in the direction of the tables. "You can take a seat anywhere, Anna's not here yet."

Once he's turned away, she allows herself a grimace, finds an empty table and takes a seat. She opens up her organizer and begins reviewing the list of items to go over with Anna and Luke.

"KANNST DU BITTE LASS MICH RAUS AUS DEM KELLER?"

"Kirk!" Luke snarls from behind the counter.

Lorelai looks at Kirk questioningly.

"I'm studying German," he explains to her. "My mother is reverting back to her mother tongue; she isn't speaking English anymore."

"Oh," she replies, a bit lost. "I'm sorry – why not? Alzheimer's?"

"No, she just doesn't like people very much," Kirk explains. "Between all the telemarketers calling her, and then the Collier girls next door TP'd the house because she chased them off with a stick when they tried to sell her some Girl Scout cookies, she finally decided it would be easier this way." He fidgets with the buttons on the cassette player. "Now she won't even acknowledge any English spoken to her. I have to tell her what I want to eat in German. And since I don't speak German, it makes for some interesting meals, as you might imagine. Last night she served me two raisins, floating in a broth of coffee and orange juice, with a paper-clip garnish."

Before she can even begin to respond, Luke reappears at her table, coffee pot in hand. "Coffee?" he asks.

The gesture is unexpected and it takes her a moment to realize he's offering her something. "Sure, uh, thanks," she accepts. "Would you like to wait for Ms. Nardini, or is it OK if we get started without her?" It's the professional thing to do, but she's inwardly hoping he'll refuse.

He does, thank goodness. "We'd better wait," Luke says with a tiny roll of the eyes that Lorelai does not fail to notice. "This is her department; if I screw anything up I'll definitely hear about it."

Lorelai nods, and Luke heads back behind the counter.

She adds some cream and sugar to her coffee and she's just taking her first sip when Anna enters the diner. "And suddenly it all becomes clear," Lorelai says as she stands up to shake hands. "Nice to see you again, Ms. Nardini."

"Oh, please call me Anna," Anna replies. "What becomes clear?"

"Why you're marrying him," Lorelai grins as they each take a seat. "This is the best coffee I've ever tasted. We have _got_ to get some of this over at the Inn."

"He won't give up his secret," Anna shakes her head.

Luke notices her arrival and comes back over to the table. "Hey," he greets her, leaning down for a kiss.

"Are we ready to get started?" Lorelai asks. She folds her hands together, businesslike.

"NEIN, DER METZGER NICHT VERGIFTEN IHREN SCHWEINELENDE."

Luke growls and sends a dirty look in Kirk's direction, and now Anna enters the fray as well. "Kirk, what the…" she begins.

Luke interrupts her. "He's Kirk. Do you really need any more information?"

Anna shrugs. "I suppose not," she agrees. "I guess we're ready to start."

Luke pulls up a chair and sits down with them, and Lorelai starts at the top of her list. "OK, first let's talk about the general theme and feel you're looking for."

Anna holds up a hand to stop her. "Actually, hold that thought," she says. "Luke, could you get me a salad? I need to grab some lunch here. I've got a ton of work to get through this afternoon, and I won't have time to make another stop."

Luke sighs impatiently, and with another roll of his eyes he gets up and heads back into the kitchen.

Lorelai watches him go. "Has he ever met Michael Stipe?" she asks Anna.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm thinking he must've been the inspiration for 'Shiny Happy People'," she explains.

Anna laughs. "Oh, he's all bark and no bite. Really, underneath it all he's the biggest softie you'll ever meet."

Lorelai raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"He's the best father to April that I could've asked for, and I never would've expected it."

"Well, that I can see," Lorelai agrees. "The 'not expecting it' part, that is."

"No, seriously," Anna insists. She thumps a hand lightly on the table. "April – well, let's just say she was a bit of a surprise, and I almost didn't even tell Luke about it when I found out I was pregnant."

"I think he would've noticed eventually," Lorelai says.

Anna shakes her head. "Actually we had broken up before I found out, so he really never would've known. And he seriously hated kids before. _Hated_ them. We couldn't go to the movies before 10:00 at night because there might've been kids there. At a restaurant, if there were any kids near us, we'd have to move tables."

"Mister Rogers he ain't," says Lorelai, and then wishes she hadn't. _Customers, _she reminds herself. _Be respectful._

But Anna takes it in stride. "No, really Lorelai," she emphasizes. "As soon as I told him I was pregnant, _everything_ changed. He was in. He was _all_ in. I wasn't sure where we would stand, the two of us, since we had broken up, but all those troubles we had, all the reasons for splitting, they all just washed away till I couldn't even remember what they were any more. He's been…oh, just _amazing_ through it all." Anna looks lovingly at Luke, who's across the diner, taking an order. "I'm gushing," she says suddenly, laughing at herself.

But Lorelai isn't laughing any more. "It's OK," she assures Anna with a wistful sigh. "A great dad is definitely worth gushing over."

* * *

"OK, I think that covers it for now," Lorelai concludes, closing her organizer. They've been at it for an hour, she and Anna, with Luke's attention moving back and forth between his fiancée and his customers. It's a balance that works well, she observes; they'll have to use this for a meeting place again. "I'll give you a call next week," she says to Anna, "and we'll set up a time to talk about menu selection and music options. The only other thing I need from you right now is the deposit." Lorelai slides a piece of paper towards them with a dollar figure on it.

Luke looks at the paper and it's like lasers have turned on inside his head. His eyes boil, an explosion imminent.

"LEGEN SIE DEN BASEBALLSCHLÄGER!"

Quivering, Luke gets to his feet. "Excuse me for a moment," he says, his jaw tense, his eyes narrowed, as he goes over to Kirk's table and grabs the cassette player. He yanks it away from the other man, leaving the headphones disconnected and perched at an odd angle atop Kirk's head. Then he opens the door and pitches it outside, and finally turns to storm back into the kitchen.

Anna squeezes her eyes shut and leans her forehead on her fist. "I'm sorry," she sighs. "I'd better go talk to him." She gets up and heads back after Luke.

Unperturbed, Lorelai sits back and patiently sips her coffee.

Mia had once complimented her on her ability to keep cool when everyone around her was having a meltdown. She had attributed it to her years spent living in the Gilmore household; even the most dysfunctional family pales by comparison. But more importantly, she's not involved. She's a spectator and that makes it easy to remain calm and to be the voice of reason.

Sometimes, that simply means waiting it out, so she opens her organizer again and reviews her to-do list for the upcoming Splaine-Watson wedding as she tries not to listen to the conversation in the other room. Unfortunately, even with Kirk murmuring in German next to her, some snippets are still clearly audible.

"…feed a small Third World country with that amount…"

"…special day…dreamed of my whole life…"

Just then the door opens and two customers enter the diner. Lorelai recognizes one of them as the cat-lady from earlier – Luke had said her name was Babette. The other woman is also older, heavyset with dark hair, and a smoothness to the way she moves; the way she turns and looks around at her surroundings, like a queen surveying her minions.

"Luke!" calls Babette in a shrill, startling voice thick with cigarette smoke and a New York accent, "You got that turkey club for me?"

Kirk gets to his feet. "Luke is…indisposed at the moment," he explains, nodding his head towards the storeroom. He approaches the counter and helps himself to a donut. He does not use a napkin.

"Nessarose at it again?" the dark-haired lady asks.

Babette suddenly spots Lorelai and comes over to her table. "Nice to see you again, sugar," she says. "I didn't get your name before."

"I'm Lorelai."

Babette extends her hand to her. "Nice to meet you Lorelai, I'm Babette, and this is Miss Patty. You new around here?"

"Sort of," she shrugs. "I work at the Independence Inn."

"She's planning the wedding," Kirk explains, again nodding towards the storeroom where the conversation is heating up again, enough to be easily heard.

"…college tuition for April…"

"...lifetime of memories…my mother…"

Lorelai is starting to feel like a lawyer caught in a conflict-of-interest case. "Maybe I should go," she says, starting to gather her things together.

"Oh no, honey," Miss Patty assures her. "They'll be done in just a few minutes, and Nessarose will get her way." She says it like she's explaining it to a child; like the conclusion is inevitable.

But one thing she doesn't get. "Nessarose?" she asks.

"The Wicked Witch of the East," Kirk explains. "The evil yet beautiful sorceress who uses her magical powers to control her subjects."

"If only a house would fall on her," Babette interjects with a scowl.

It seems that Anna is not very popular. It strikes her as odd at first – Luke is the one who'd come off as abrasive and surly to her, but then again, this is _his_ diner. Stands to reason that his patrons would take his side.

Though really, why are they taking sides at all?

Before she can ponder further, Anna reappears and the onlookers quickly hide their snickering. Anna comes over to Lorelai's table, pulls out her checkbook and starts making out a check. "I'm sorry about that," she says as she scribbles. "Luke's not really that into the whole 'big wedding' concept."

"I noticed," Lorelai says. "You know, if you're not sure about this, we can wait on the deposit."

"Oh, I'm sure," Anna says. She tears out the check and hands it to her. "And I don't want to lose the date."

Lorelai folds the check in half and fingers it awkwardly. "It's just that engagements can be pretty stressful," she prods further, "and if this is already causing this much strife between the two of you…"

"Lorelai, it's fine," Anna assures her. "I'll deal with Luke. Really, it's OK. We're going to do this."

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday mornings are for sleeping in. Especially in December in Connecticut, when the nights are stretching ever longer and the human impulse is to curl up and hibernate, but modern life just doesn't allow it, with work and school and holiday preparations. At least there's still Saturday mornings to cherish, to luxuriate in the soft warmth of one's own bed and sleep till noon.

Lorelai loves Saturday mornings.

Except this one.

This particular Saturday morning, something is jostling her awake far, far before she's ready.

"Mom, I need to throw an egg off the roof."

She's curled up on her side, her back to Rory who's kneeling next to her on the bed. Lorelai waves her arm aimlessly in a pathetic attempt at batting at her. "Go away," she murmurs.

"Mom," Rory prods, bouncing on the bed, which has the desired effect of waking Lorelai up fully. "Mom, come on."

Lorelai rolls onto her back and opens one eye at her daughter. "What?" she asks stupidly.

"I need to throw an egg off the roof," Rory repeats.

She shuts her eyes again and rolls back onto her side, away from Rory. "OK, hon," she mutters dismissively. "While you work on that, I'll be beating a watermelon with a baseball bat."

"What?"

Lorelai presses her face into her pillow and takes a deep breath. "Well it's just as random as 'throwing an egg off the roof'."

Rory grasps Lorelai's shoulder and jostles it. "Mom, I'm serious. It's a science project for school. I need some help."

Lorelai lets out a groan and rolls onto her back once again. "Hon, if you're asking me for help you must be in real trouble."

"It's throwing things. You'll love it," Rory insists.

Lorelai raises an eyebrow. "And just what is the purpose of this project?"

"I have to wrap the egg up so it won't break when it's tossed off the roof," Rory explains. "On Monday the principal is going to climb onto the roof of the school and toss everyone's eggs down and see whose break and whose don't."

Lorelai acknowledges surrender by sitting up in bed with a sigh. "OK, any ideas what to wrap it in?"

"I was thinking maybe some bubble wrap, or maybe I could try making a parachute out of a plastic bag."

Lorelai taps her fingers, pondering. "My padded bra would probably work."

Rory bounces impatiently on the bed. "Mom," she complains.

"Cotton balls!" Lorelai cries. "How about a bunch of cotton balls in a plastic bag?" Fully awake now, she leaps out of bed, finds a pad of paper and begins compiling a list of supplies.

* * *

A short time later, they're dressed and eating breakfast at the tiny table in the corner of their one-room home. "OK, so where are we going to practice this?" Lorelai asks. She shovels a spoonful of Lucky Charms into her mouth.

Rory thinks for a moment. "We need a place that's at least as high as the roof of the school. I want this to be a real, realistic test."

"I don't think this garden shed is going to fit the bill," Lorelai shakes her head. "And Mia might object to us throwing eggs onto the heads of the customers at the Inn. We're going to have to find somewhere else."

"Where else can we go? Nobody's going to let us climb on their roof and throw eggs down," Rory complains.

"How about the church in town?" Lorelai offers.

"But we don't go there."

"So?"

Rory rolls her eyes. "So you want to walk in there and tell the minister 'sorry, we have no interest in your religion, we just want to toss eggs out the window?'"

"It's for a school project, isn't it?"

Rory sighs. "OK, but you're doing the talking."

* * *

A half hour later, the breakfast dishes have been washed, they're both dressed, and Rory is waiting impatiently at the door, her egg-wrapping supplies in hand.

And Lorelai cannot find her coat.

"Can we hurry up and do this before I'm old enough to wear your padded bra myself?" Rory complains, arms folded over her chest.

Lorelai is on her hands and knees as she peers under the bed. "I think I left my coat at Sookie's yesterday."

Rory frowns. "How could you forget your coat in December in Connecticut?"

Lorelai gets to her feet and dusts herself off. "Never mind, I'll go without it." She retrieves an extra shirt from the closet, pulls it on and buttons it up. "Ready to go?"

"I've been ready for ten minutes," Rory grumbles.

Lorelai pulls her shoes on and runs a comb through her hair. "OK, let's hurry up and get this done. Sookie loaned me season one of _The Partridge Family_, we have 25 episodes to get through this weekend." They head out the door and down towards the Inn.

It's wet out from recent rains, with a chill in the air that goes right through to Lorelai's bones, making it feel colder than it really is. They cross into the Inn's parking lot, and she throws a longing glance in the direction of her car, but proceeds on foot down to the sidewalk and towards town. "Out of gas until payday," she explains to Rory's questioning look. "It's only half a mile, we can walk." She quickens her pace as she folds her arms more tightly across her chest to ward off the cold.

* * *

They reach the center of town and enter the church, where Lorelai is thankful to be able to get warm. She goes into the office and explains their errand to the office worker on duty. Then she and Rory agree that Lorelai will go up into the tower to be the egg-tosser, while Rory will stay outside to survey the results.

Lorelai climbs up to the balcony and sticks her head out the window. "Oh, Romeo, Romeo…" she laments.

"Will you just toss it?" Rory insists from down below.

Lorelai begins with the cotton-balled egg, picks it up and hurls it as hard as she can towards the ground.

SPLAT!

The egg shatters, and the bag and all its contents are strewn over the sidewalk in a mess of gooey, yellowed cottony fluff. Rory hastens over to the mess and starts trying to pick up the debris. "No fair," she calls up to Lorelai. "You're supposed to drop it _gently_, not hurl it full force at the ground."

"Who's to say the principal won't do the same thing?" Lorelai calls from above. "Maybe he was Curt Schilling in a previous life."

"Except for the fact that Curt Schilling is alive and well," Rory points out. "Can we please switch places?"

"OK, but no spitting," Lorelai says.

"I make no promises," Rory replies.

They swap places, Rory now poking her head out of the window of the tower and Lorelai shivering on the sidewalk below. A light rain is starting to fall. "Hey hon?" she asks, putting on her best Spanish accent. "I do not suppose you can speed things up?"

"Keep your shirt on, Inigo," Rory replies, as she futzes with the next bundle. "I'm going to try the parachute one now."

"OK, but let's get a move on please? This isn't exactly a refreshing spring rain."

The words are just barely out of her mouth when Lorelai is suddenly hit with an icy deluge that makes her scream and almost knocks her off her feet. She turns to see a car pulling away after driving through a puddle and splattering her almost from head to foot.

Gesticulating wildly, she hops up and down and shouts obscenities at the disappearing vehicle.

And that's when something hard hits her on the back of her head.

There's a crack and then there's wet goo in her hair, and it takes her a moment to realize that Rory's egg has just made contact with her head. The remnants slide down onto the ground, a mess of broken shell, egg glop and the plastic parachute, still fluttering in the wind.

Unformed obscenities turn to shock and then to indignation as she turns up towards her daughter. "You hit me!" she accuses.

"Sorry," Rory apologizes meekly.

"You're not supposed to hit me, you throw like a girl. You can't throw a ball to save your life! How on earth did you manage to _pummel _mewith an_ egg_?"

"Beginner's luck," Rory replies. "Are you OK?"

Lorelai sticks her tongue out and licks at some of the egg that's trickling down her cheek. "Needs Hollandaise sauce," she says.

"Ewwww."

"Did you know that raw egg is actually really good for your hair?" Lorelai asks.

"Will you freeze to death if I just try one more?"

Lorelai thinks she just might; her chill is starting to give way to involuntary shivers, but she replies, "OK, but if I start hallucinating midgets serving me orange marmalade on melba toast, can you please call me an ambulance?"

"Deal."

"Do you think it's a bad sign that my fingers are turning blue?"

Rory ignores her. "OK, here comes the bubble wrap." She tosses the last egg out the window.

Third time proves to be a charm. The egg bounces lightly in its container and settles on the sidewalk. Rory whoops with excitement and starts down from the church tower to join Lorelai.

Lorelai hops up and down, trying to get her blood pumping as she waits.

"Lorelai?"

The voice comes from behind her. She turns around to see who it is, and finds, of all people, Luke Danes. He's standing there, arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow raised as he looks her up & down inquisitively.

This is just too much. "Oh, so _now_ you recognize me?" she accuses, waggling an indignant finger at him. "I was dressed perfect and professional last time we met and you had no idea who I was, but douse me in slush and crack an egg on my head and we have immediate recognition."

There's a twitch around his mouth, and a gleam in his eyes; an expression that somehow doesn't belong on this particular countenance. It's so out of place and Lorelai's mind is so addled with cold that it takes her ridiculously long to process the fact that it's a look of _amusement_. "What the hell happened to you?" he asks finally.

"Oh, it's a mom thing," Lorelai explains, motioning to where Rory is emerging from the church. "I was helping my daughter with a school project and I guess you could say she blinded me with science. Rory, this is Luke Danes."

"Hi," says Rory.

"You might want to get some, uh, dry clothes on," Luke suggests, motioning vaguely at her wet shirt.

Lorelai looks down at her clothes and realizes that her top is clinging to her in a most immodest fashion. If she had any blood flow left, she'd be blushing right now. She motions to her daughter. "Come on, Rory, let's get going before I start shivering so much I won't be able to walk straight."

"That's a bad sign," Luke says, watching her involuntary shivers increase. "How far away is your car?"

"Not near enough," Lorelai says. "We walked here."

"You're going to get pneumonia walking back like that," Luke objects. "Come in the diner and get warm."

"Do you have a license for porn?" Lorelai asks. "Because you might need one with me looking like this. Besides, I didn't bring my wallet, I can't buy anything."

"Come," Luke orders.

Desperate for some warmth, Lorelai blindly obeys and follows him, with Rory trailing behind. He leads them into the diner, through to a back stairway, and finally upstairs to a door that reads 'Williams Hardware.'"

"So what's the deal with Williams Hardware, anyway?" Lorelai asks. It's a relief to be indoors; the cold is no longer biting at her, but her wet clothes are still keeping her thoroughly chilled.

Luke unlocks the door. "This place used to be my dad's hardware store," he explains tersely as he motions for them to enter. "The bathroom is over there if you want to grab a shower, there's towels in the closet, and there should be some of Anna's clothes in the dresser for you to wear."

"Luke, thank you…" Lorelai begins.

"No going through my file cabinet," Luke grouses. He turns and disappears back downstairs.

Rory frowns at her questioningly. "And who is this person?"

"Client from the Inn," Lorelai explains. "Honestly I thought he was a bit of a jerk before, but right now I'm thinking he might as well be Mother Teresa."

* * *

The shower is heavenly. Lorelai lingers under the hot spray until she's thoroughly warmed, and quite a bit longer than that, until Rory complains, saying she's finished the book she brought and doesn't have anything else to do. So Lorelai gets out and dries off. She finds some clothes in the dresser drawers – Anna isn't as tall as she is, but there's a pair of roomy sweatpants that she can get by with, and a very cute fuzzy pink top. She even finds a hairdryer, dries her hair, and finally she and Rory head back down to the diner.

It's late morning and the place is almost empty. Luke is behind the counter, adding up receipts. When he spots them, he reaches down, grabs two mugs and slides them over in their direction. "What can I get you? Coffee?"

Lorelai shakes her head. "No thanks. I just wanted to let you know that I thank you, Rory thanks you, and now that I won't have to go see her, my doctor thanks you. Ever since I tried singing "Hungry Like the Wolf" into her stethoscope that one time I don't think she's too keen on having me in her office."

Rory is hovering over a dish on the counter. "Is that cherry pie?"

"Rhubarb cherry," Luke corrects her. "Can I get you a piece?"

"Um…no money on me," Lorelai reminds her.

Luke waves a hand at her dismissively. "So wipe up the table when you're done and we'll call it even." He lifts the cover and serves up a slice. "And no sneezing on the salt shakers," he adds.

That was another joke_, _she realizes in surprise. Luke has a _sense of humor_. How had she missed this before? It must be wedding planning that makes him grouchy. She stops herself from contemplating any other alternatives; it's really none of her business anyway.

She wonders how far she can push him. "Though I suppose you do owe me for the wet T-shirt show I just put on for you," she prods.

"I'll stuff some singles into your pants," Luke deadpans, not missing a beat.

"Or you could pour me some more of that coffee," Lorelai replies, taking a seat at the counter. She motions for Rory to join her. "So do you guys live up there?" She nods in the direction of the upstairs apartment.

"Not really," Luke explains as he fills up her cup. "I used to, but I moved into Anna's place when April came along. Still comes in handy to have it, though; we spend the night here every once in a while when I have an early delivery, or the weather's bad, or sometimes Anna watches April up there while I'm working." He locates some hot chocolate mix and fixes a cup for Rory, then cuts another slice of pie for Lorelai.

Lorelai takes a bite and turns to her daughter. "OK, so are we all done with the homework for the weekend? Or do we have to hurl a china doll out of a tree now too?"

"All done," Rory assures her. "We can go watch your marathon now."

Luke is back adding up receipts, but this catches his attention enough so that he looks up questioningly.

"Season one of _The_ _Partridge Family_," Lorelai explains. "Twenty-five episodes of fun-filled family frolicking."

"Hey, nice alliteration," interjects Rory.

"You're going to spend twelve hours watching a bunch of people dressed in velvet with fluffy collars lip-sync and drive around in a crazy painted bus?" Luke asks.

"Oh, my God, you're totally missing the point," Lorelai objects. "_The Partridge Family_ was _so_ ahead of its time. It had a single mother of five kids, she was a strong parental figure, all the women were well-written and intelligent, and they dealt with real-life issues without being preachy like the Bradys did." Lorelai feigns gagging herself with her finger at the mention of the Bradys.

Luke raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Lorelai grins playfully. "Plus David Cassidy was just a _major_ hunk and always will be," she adds, leaning over to put an arm around Rory. "It's _so_ important to teach good taste to the younger generation."

Luke rolls his eyes.

* * *

Despite his instructions to clean up after themselves, when Lorelai and Rory are done, Luke collects their dishes and wipes the table down himself. Then he pours a cup of coffee to go and hands it to Lorelai. "Since you seem to like it so much," he explains.

She takes the cup and sets it down on the counter, then dons the sweatshirt she'd found among Anna's clothes. "Drug pusher," she accuses, "giving me the first one for free."

"First two," he corrects her. "And they're not really the first, you were here the other day. You don't have to take it if you don't want it."

"Oh, I'm taking it," she assures him, picking up the cup and holding it protectively, "but you can be damn sure I'm paying you back next time I see you."

"I charge 200% interest, compounded hourly," Luke says.

She ignores him. "Hey – thanks again," she says sincerely, making her way over to the door where Rory is waiting impatiently. "You've been a lifesaver today, almost literally."

"No problem," Luke replies.

"I'll get Anna's clothes back to her the next time I see her," Lorelai adds as she steps out the door. "I may even wash them."

"Nice meeting you," Rory says in farewell.

Luke waves, the two of them exit the diner and start their way down the street. "Are you warm enough to make it back home now?" Rory asks.

Lorelai nods. "First thing, I need to pick up my coat at Sookie's. Then we can go get Partridged."

As they continue on their way down the street, Lorelai surreptitiously sneaks a glance back at the diner as she ponders the events of the past hour.

_That_ was unexpected.

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

It's the following Friday and Lorelai's day is proving to be a bit trying. She's got three upcoming events that need her attention – music selection for the Spencer retirement, seating arrangements for the Bingsworth anniversary party, and flowers for the Nardini-Danes wedding.

Plus the new concierge started this morning, a French guy named Michel who went to some fancy-schmancy hospitality school in Geneva. It's her job to train him and he's already making her want to strangle him with his fancy silk tie.

But for now, she's got him busy searching through Mia's Filofax to find a contractor who can fix the roof. The damage from the ice dams has spread to room 215, where the Turners were woken up at four o'clock last night by water dripping onto their backsides. It's time to get it taken care of.

While Michel is busy with that, she's got a meeting with Anna to look at flower arrangements. So now they're seated at a table in the dining room, poring over books full of pictures of flower arrangements and sipping coffee.

"So if you want to go the traditional route," Lorelai says, indicating a bouquet on the page, "there's the basic white roses. Or you could be a little more unconventional and mix in some brighter colors with it. I've seen some fabulous things done with orange and even red."

Anna clicks her tongue while she ponders. "I think I'll stick with white," she says finally.

"OK," Lorelai makes a note in the organizer. "And did you want just roses, or did you want to try something like calla lilies, daisies, tulips, orchids…" She flips the page and taps her pen on the picture.

Anna pulls the book in front of her and is reviewing the selection when Sookie emerges from the kitchen. Lorelai waves to her to come join them. "Anna Nardini, this is Sookie St. James, she's our sous chef who will be working with us to plan your menu."

Anna looks up and extends a hand to Sookie, who gives one of her nervous giggles, wipes her hand on a dish towel that's slung over her shoulder, and finally grasps Anna's hand in return. "I'll be going over your wedding themes with Sookie," Lorelai adds, "and then she'll put together some menu ideas to discuss when we meet in a few weeks."

"Sausage rolls!" Sookie exclaims excitedly, bouncing on her toes and pointing a finger at Anna. "Pastry dough wrapped around some sweet maple sausage with a touch of Dijon mustard, they'd make a perfect wedding appetizer." She stops herself with a gasp. "You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"Remember I told you about Anna?" Lorelai interjects. "The egg incident from the other day?" She turns to Anna. "I have some of your clothes to return to you, by the way. Did Luke tell you what happened?"

Anna nods. "He mentioned something about it."

"He was a lifesaver. Please thank him again for me."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Anna says fondly as she settles back into her flower choices.

Lorelai holds up a finger to Anna and gets to her feet. "Excuse me, I just need to talk to Sookie for a moment – Inn stuff," she lies as she and Sookie step away out of earshot.

A bit of Sookie's hair looks singed, Lorelai notices, and she smells vaguely of smoke. "Sookie, you haven't been using the broiler on your own again, have you? David said from now on to make sure…"

Sookie waves a hand. "I'm fine. Are you still coming over tonight?"

Lorelai nods eagerly. "Definitely! Well, unless I end up getting chased by a bunch of dinosaurs that've been cloned from blood sucked by mosquitoes and then preserved in fossil resin for millions of years." She rolls her eyes. "Or I might also get arrested for murdering the new concierge, but barring either of those events, I just need to drop Rory off and then I'll be over."

Sookie nods and disappears back into the kitchen and Lorelai returns to Anna. "Sorry about that," she apologizes. "Sookie can be a little overeager sometimes, but she's really an amazing chef; she'll do a fantastic job with your wedding, I promise." Then she has a thought. "Hey, would you like to…" she begins haltingly.

Anna looks up questioningly.

"We're doing a girls' night tonight, Sookie and me. I thought maybe you'd like to join us?"

"Oh, that sounds heavenly," Anna replies. "I haven't had a night out in months."

"It's nothing fancy," Lorelai explains. "Just a few drinks at Sookie's house, and we'll be watching _Killer_ _Klowns from Outer Space_, a camp classic, and perfect for anyone who's ever found clowns to be just a little bit disturbing. I don't know about you, but Bozo the Clown used to give me nightmares." She pauses. "Unless it would be weird – you being a client and all…"

Anna shakes her head. "No, it's fine, I'd love to join you, I'll just have to see if Luke can watch April tonight."

* * *

It's closer to 7:30 once Lorelai finally gets settled onto Sookie's couch next to Anna, with a drink in hand. Sookie is still in the kitchen preparing snacks, but she won't allow either of them in there with her, and she certainly won't accept help; Lorelai knows from experience that she's non-negotiable on this point. So she sinks back into the couch and turns to Anna. "So Luke was available to watch April?"

Anna nods. "He was supposed to work late at the diner, but I got him to get his cook to cover so I could come out. Where's your daughter?" She takes a large swig of the drink that Sookie poured her.

Lorelai helps herself to a salmon puff. "Oh, it's that wonderful ritual known as 'sleeping over at a friend's house'," she explains. "It's the only time I ever get a night out on my own."

"Don't feel too sorry for her," Sookie interjects from the next room. "Lorelai really doesn't know what to do with herself when Rory's gone; _that's_ when I feel bad for her. This invite tonight was really just a pity offer. Usually Rory comes along to these movie nights."

"So I'm just a stand-in for her?" Anna jokes.

"Pretty much, so make sure you behave yourself or you'll be grounded for a week," Lorelai waggles a finger at her.

Sookie appears carrying a tray of more assorted appetizers which she sets down on the coffee table in front of them. They smell delicious. Anna helps herself to one. "God, I can't even imagine how you do it on your own," she says to Lorelai. "I'm totally overwhelmed with April as it is, and I have Luke for help. _And_ my mom."

Lorelai nods, remembering those days. "Well, April's a toddler. Toddlers by definition are more overwhelming than a tsunami on Mecca during the holy pilgrimage."

Anna sips her drink. "What the heck did you put in this, Sookie? I swear it tastes like strawberry sherbet but I've already got a buzz going and I'm not even halfway through my first drink."

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that," Sookie smiles, nodding her head back and forth.

It's a pointless line of questioning, Lorelai knows. She's seen enough people try and fail before. "Don't even bother, Anna," Lorelai waves a hand at her. "Sookie never gives away her recipes. I don't know why not; it's not like I or anyone else could make it as well as she does, even with the recipe."

Sookie giggles. "Remember the time you tried to make the scrambled eggs at the Inn?"

Anna raises an eyebrow. "Why were you cooking, and how on earth can you mess up scrambled eggs?"

"Well, I was doing the cooking because it was my fault that David the chef was late that day. I played a practical joke on him," Lorelai explains, trying unsuccessfully to look sheepish. This was one of her best practical jokes; she's more than a bit proud of it.

"See, David is incredibly anal about his car," Sookie interjects, "so Lorelai decided to torment him; she put a note on his window saying 'Sorry for the scratch, I'll take care of any damage,' and she left a fake phone number."

Lorelai's eyes dance mischievously. "He spent _three hours_ the next morning going over every inch of the car, trying to find the non-existent scratch." All three of them are laughing now. "As for how I messed up scrambled eggs," she adds, "well, the eggs are really the only ones who fully understand that."

"Refills, anyone?" Sookie comes around with a pitcher and tops them both off. She sets the pitcher on the coffee table and sinks comfortably into the lounge chair.

Anna turns to Lorelai. "So can I ask you a question?" Her eyebrows are raised intently, and Lorelai has the sense that she's being examined in much the same way she's seen Anna do with a selection of wedding invitations, or table linens.

"Yes, I did once consider joining the Branch Davidians," Lorelai jokes.

Anna laughs appreciatively. "No, but really…do you date? Or do you have a boyfriend?"

Lorelai nods knowingly. "Ah, I believe the proper phrasing of that question is 'Do you have any semblance of a love life, or are you so consumed with single motherhood that it's just not possible to think of such things, thus warranting the pity of all who meet you?'"

"Ah, so you _do_ understand my question," Anna smiles.

Lorelai gives a sigh. "I suppose it's the latter, although I'm not looking for any pity."

"She gets asked out _all_ the time," Sookie interjects. "Really, don't feel too sorry for her."

That's a bit of an exaggeration. "Half of them run screaming when they find out I have a kid," she protests. "And anyway, I'm just not comfortable bringing someone else into Rory's life right now. She has a father. It just seems like it would be…weird having another man around, acting like he's some sort of parental figure when he's not."

"I thought you said her father wasn't involved?" Anna asks.

Lorelai plucks the straw from her drink and chews on it. "He's here and there," she replies vaguely. "He pops in every so often."

Anna swallows another sip of her drink. "How does Rory feel about this arrangement?"

Lorelai throws a glance over at Sookie who's sitting forward attentively in her seat. "Rory, bless her heart, is Rory," she says affectionately. "She's incredibly resilient. She loves Chris, but she knows not to expect much from him."

Anna shifts in her seat, lifting one leg under her. "So how did – Chris, you said his name was? How did he react when he found out you were pregnant?"

Anna's not shy, that's for sure. Lorelai gulps down the rest of her drink. "He signed right up for The Twenty-Two-Year Plan," she explains. "Just like your guy did. He was all in. My parents mapped it all out for us – marriage, job, the whole 99,000 yards, he was ready, willing and able to do it all."

A timer dings in the kitchen. "Our Lorelai, a married woman," Sookie interjects with a giggle as she gets to her feet.

Lorelai shudders. "It would've been a disaster of Woody and Mia proportions."

Sookie heads into the kitchen and Lorelai turns back to Anna who's still staring at her intently. It's beginning to be a little unnerving. "So he wanted to marry you?" Anna questions further. "How'd he get from that to absentee father?"

Lorelai waves a hand in a 'stop it' sort of gesture. "I wouldn't quite call him an absentee," she corrects. "He calls Rory at least once a week. We see him a few times a year. But I guess when I refused him…"

"_You_ wouldn't marry _him_?" Anna interjects.

Lorelai grits her jaw. "Chris had plans," she explains a bit more forcefully. "He was going to Europe, college, he had a _world_ of ideas of things he wanted to do. I didn't see any reason why we should both ruin our lives, trapped in a loveless marriage, and believe me, that's where we would've ended up, with him working at a job that he would've hated, all in the name of 'giving Rory a home.' Look at us now; she _has_ a home. She has a mother, and she even has a father once in a while."

Anna's brow is furrowed as she scrutinizes her. Lorelai is beginning to feel a bit like the bearded lady at a freak show. "So when you wouldn't marry him, he just took off?" Anna continues her questioning.

Lorelai shrugs. "He left, with my blessing. I was just encouraging him to live the life he had planned all along. I didn't want him to give up his whole future just because I forgot the condoms one night."

Anna frowns. "But didn't he forgot the condoms too?" She lays a conciliatory hand on Lorelai's shoulder. "I'm sorry, it's just that raising a child is so hard, I don't see why you should have to take on the whole burden yourself."

"Rory's not a burden," Lorelai says sharply.

Anna takes another swig of her drink. "I didn't mean it like that," she apologizes with a shake of her head. "I guess, it's just that Luke is such a wonderful father to April, I feel bad for any child who doesn't have that. But I know your situation is different."

"It's OK," Lorelai replies quietly, leaning her head back on the couch.

From the kitchen comes the sound of a crash. "I'm fine!" comes Sookie's voice, reassuring them. "Wrong place to put the cocktail glasses, that's all."

Anna sits forward and sets her drink down on the coffee table. "What about your parents?" she questions further. "Are they involved at all?"

This is a simpler topic, at least. Lorelai gives a snort. "My mother makes Saddam Hussein look like a kindly sovereign. I ran away when Rory was two."

Anna's eyes widen. "Wow, so you really _are_ on your own. I don't know how you do it. My mother is so helpful with April, I swear if it hadn't been for her I would've been putting her diapers on backwards, taking her out in the cold…and she was such a huge help with her colic, I had no idea how to calm her down when she cried."

"My mother isn't exactly the hands-on type," Lorelai replies. "She caught one whiff of Rory's first dirty diaper, ran out of the room and hired a nanny,"

Anna laughs. "Not the nurturing kind? How did she take it when you ran away?"

"We were out of touch for a while," Lorelai replies. "We see each other once in a while now, mostly on holidays. It's all very cordial, very dignified. Very Stepford."

Anna shakes her head. "I can't even imagine, running away like that. I mean, as a mother, if my daughter did that, I'd be devastated. Do you think your mother missed you? I mean obviously I've never met her, I just can't imagine that any mother wouldn't."

"Ah, but you haven't attended the Emily Gilmore school of mothering," Lorelai replies. "Lesson #1: any failure of the child to comply with the life that's been planned for her signifies a deep character flaw that must be beaten into submission or rejected entirely." It's her usual response to all things Emily, though inwardly she's not certain.

Sookie returns from the kitchen carrying a tray of appetizers. "Bruschetta, crab-stuffed jalapenos, and foccacia with three cheeses," she explains as she puts the tray down.

"See this is the great part of having a chef as your best friend," Lorelai explains, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. They all dig in eagerly. "Seriously, you should go hang out at the local cooking school to meet people. I'd offer Sookie, but she's taken and I'm not giving her up."

"So you only like me for my cooking?" Sookie asks Lorelai.

"Damn straight and don't you forget it. Now let's have us some _Killer Klowns_," Lorelai says, aiming the remote at the TV.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

Truth be told, she's never really given much thought to how her mother would've reacted when she ran away all those years ago. It's a line of thinking that she couldn't afford to consider back then. Her sanity depended on getting out of that house, and any consideration of hurt feelings on her parents' part – well, she just couldn't go there. She needed to get away and that was that.

Emily, of course has never given her any inkling on the matter. She simply soldiers on, cordial and polished in her demeanor, Emily Post in a Courtney Love world, with just the occasional dig at Lorelai, just piercing enough to remind her what a disappointment she is, but not enough to make her go away permanently. Smart, calculated, perfectly timed; that's Emily Gilmore through and through.

Of course, there _was_ that time when Rory had been in the hospital.

It was when she was five, and Lorelai hadn't spoken to her parents in almost three years, so when Rory needed to be hospitalized with severe pneumonia, Mia and her adopted family from the Inn had been the ones she turned to for help.

But when Rory's fever spiked up to 105̊ and the doctors had begun to look grim; creases between their eyes that darted away rather than meet hers, Mia had taken it upon herself to call her parents. Lorelai wasn't angry with her; she'd simply been too frantic over Rory's condition to even think of making the call herself, and, quite simply, the gravity of the situation firmly trumped any emotional baggage between her and her parents.

So they had shown up at the hospital and offered their unreserved support, and together Lorelai and her parents had sat in the accursed waiting room, tapping their feet, watching the clock tick by and waiting for news. At one point, her mother had excused herself to go use the bathroom, and Lorelai had gone in search of a cup of coffee, and as she aimlessly winded her way through the endless corridors, she passed the hospital chapel, glanced inside and saw, to her surprise, that her mother was actually nowhere near the ladies' room.

Her perfectly poised, calm and dignified mother had been sitting hunched over in a pew, sobbing.

Lorelai had taken a step towards her, but when she heard her mother praying quietly, "…can't lose Rory too, please God…" she had thought better of it, stepped back into the hallway and given her some privacy.

When she'd got back to the waiting room, the doctor was there with the good news that Rory's fever had broken and they were through the worst of it. Her mother had returned shortly thereafter, and joined in the heartfelt hugs and tears of relief, and Lorelai had vowed to herself that henceforth she would try to be a better daughter, and maintain some sort of regular contact with her parents.

Of course shortly after making this well-intentioned vow, her mother had regained her composure and launched full-force into a classic Emily-style discourse on Rory's anticipated needs during her convalescence, (apparently nothing less than a hospital bed with down pillows and a full-time nurse would be needed, else Rory risked a full relapse) and Lorelai's utter inability to provide for her properly, and two minutes later Lorelai was reviewing the wording of her vow with a lawyer's acumen and attention to detail, in search of a loophole that might release her.

But however reluctantly, it's been four years now that she's stuck to it, and every once in a while – like when Anna asked about it the other night – she finds herself thinking back to that moment of vulnerability her mother had shown.

Tonight, though, she brushes the thought aside. She's keeping her vow, doing her daughterly duty by going to her parents' Christmas party, and she's promised herself she will _not_ bait her mother or goad her, or in any way try to re-create a scene from _Dynasty_ while she's there.

She's taking this one step at a time, and the first step is to make sure she's dressed properly. She stands in front of the mirror, smoothing down her dress and feeling helpless. "This isn't going to work," she complains.

"Mom, you look great, what's the problem?" Rory, of course, looks utterly charming in the purple sequined dress that Lorelai found for her at the thrift shop. Apart from the fact that nine-year-old girls look adorable in just about anything, there's also an abundance of cute and inexpensive clothes available for them.

The same thing cannot be said for Lorelai's slightly more grown-up size and taste. "This is the same dress I wore to my parents' Christmas party last year," she replies.

"So?"

Lorelai throws up her hands in frustration. "So, my mother will notice and I'll be subjected to an entire evening's worth of digs about my appearance, my taste, or lack thereof, my lack of proper conduct at social events, and while she's at it she'll probably find a way to blame me for that whole Somalia thing."

"Well if Western civilization can be saved simply by changing your dress, it may be something to consider," Rory suggests.

"I don't have anything else presentable," Lorelai complains. "I ripped my blue dress last time I wore it, and I haven't had a chance to fix it. My purple one has this weird stain on it, I have no idea where it came from. It's this weird putrid color, like Soylent Green or something." She pauses. "I wonder if it's from the Batchelders' Christmas party last week. We never did figure out what that second entrée was." She pulls a suit out of the closet. "Do you think this is too frumpy?"

"It is a bit archaic," Rory nods.

"Archaic. Good word," Lorelai comments.

"Vocabulary word of the day," Rory explains. "So why are we going to this event if it's stressing you out so much?"

"Apple tarts," Lorelai replies. "Amazing food, gorgeous Christmas decorations, and plenty of holiday beverages that taste so sweet you don't even notice that you're getting completely plastered until you find yourself making out with the butler's nephew in the broom closet."

"So the fact that we'll be at Grandma and Grandpa's house is just an inconvenient detail?" asks Rory.

Lorelai sighs. "No, we're going to see them too. I figure as long as I put in an appearance at least once a year and manage to not kill or maim them in the process, I can keep myself off the list of the Top Ten Worst Daughters of the millennium."

"Who said you're a bad daughter?"

Bless her heart, the girl has no clue. "Never mind," Lorelai shakes her head. "My guilty conscience said it. Let's go," Lorelai replies as she slips on a pair of only slightly scuffed pumps, grabs her coat and heads for the door.

* * *

The party is in full swing by the time they arrive; Lorelai can hear the voices from within even before she rings the bell.

Ever the cordial hostess, her mother answers the door promptly with a smile. "Hello, Lorelai," she greets them and holds the door open for them as they enter.

The house is decked out in full Christmas splendor inside and out, with greenery and red bows everywhere. White lights only, of course. No plastic decorations. Candles six inches apart; she'd expect nothing less from Emily Gilmore, but even Lorelai has to admit to herself that it looks beautiful.

"Hi Grandma," Rory says.

"Hi, Mom," Lorelai offers. "The place looks great." Her mother takes their coats and hangs them on the coat rack.

Her father spots them from across the room and comes to say hello. "Lorelai, you're looking well."

"Hi Dad."

Her mother is examining her from head to foot, one eyebrow raised. Lorelai bites back a quip involving a horse auction and maintains her smile. "How's everything with your job?" is the comment Emily finally settles on.

She's sticking with good behavior too, it would seem. "Fine," Lorelai replies. "They've got me working on event planning these days."

Her father pats Rory on the shoulder. "And how is this lovely young lady doing?" he asks. "Everything going well in school?"

"Yes, Grandpa," Rory says stiffly.

"Rory's a natural, Dad," Lorelai says. "Straight A's all the way, and she's never without a book in her hands."

"Is that so?" Richard asks, eyebrows raised. "So many kids today are completely buried in TV and those video games, sometimes I wonder if they even teach them to read any more. Rory, it's quite refreshing to hear that you love books."

"Well come in, come in," her mother gestures to them. "Rory, your great-aunt Millie would love to see you, she's over by the fireplace." The doorbell rings again. "Excuse me, please," she says, heading back to answer the door.

Rory heads over towards the fireplace in search of Great-Aunt Millie, as Lorelai flags down a server, helps herself to a drink, and then begins wandering her way through the crowd.

"Lorelai?" comes a voice behind her.

Lorelai turns around to see. "Janet?" she asks. It's Janet Levy, former classmate of Lorelai's; she can remember playing with her as far back as the third grade, when Lorelai had spilled a bottle of nail polish on Janet's parents' 16th century antique French chair, resulting in her being asked not to return. Janet had gone on to be an honor student in high school, class president and any number of other credits; certainly more than enough to make Emily weep with envy and wish she could trade in her far inferior daughter.

"Lorelai Gilmore!" Janet cries excitedly. She's impeccably dressed in a body-hugging, short blue dress and with her long blonde hair and flawless figure, it's clear that she's still got that 'insufferably perfect' thing going. "Oh my God, Kelly, look, Lorelai's here!"

Standing next to her is Kelly Smythe, another former classmate; Kelly was perhaps most notorious, back in high school, for cheating on their 11th-grade Algebra final. It was a feat that, given the difficulty of the subject and the level of control and security in Mr. Vogel's classroom, had really warranted a gold medal, if cheating were an Olympic sport. That wasn't, by far, the only thing that Kelly managed to get away with back then; she had a charm and angelic demeanor that even Lorelai had envied; none of the teachers at school could imagine her capable of doing anything wrong.

Unlike Lorelai, who always seemed to be in trouble for something.

Kelly stands before her now, in a black and white pinstriped pantsuit that doesn't look remotely boyish on her, with her flowing dark hair, high heels and sparkling jewelry. "Hey, Lorelai," she says in greeting. "We were all wondering if you'd be here tonight. How long has it been? I don't think we've seen you since high school!"

Lorelai sips her drink. "Actually, I'm not Lorelai, I'm Selma, Lorelai's evil twin," she informs them. "Lorelai is outside locked in the trunk of the car."

Kelly and Janet burst into peals of laughter. "Oh, God, you haven't changed a bit. How long has it been?" Kelly asks.

Janet grabs Kelly by the arm. "About 10 years," she interjects. She extends a finger in Lorelai's direction. "Remember it was sophomore year, right around homecoming when Lorelai…when she…" she stammers.

It's tempting to let her continue, just to watch her squirm, but Lorelai does the polite thing and puts her out of her misery. "Branded myself with a scarlet 'A' for the rest of my life?" she supplies.

Janet and Kelly laugh again. "Oh, you know what we mean," Kelly says. "Whatever happened with that whole thing?"

"Oh, the usual," Lorelai explains. "I'm still pregnant, my Peacekeeper device is keeping the baby in stasis until I get a surgeon to release it."

More laughter. "No, really, Lorelai," Kelly insists. "Didn't you run away from home or something?"

"My daughter and I live in Stars Hollow," Lorelai replies, evading a direct answer. "I work at the Independence Inn. That's her over there." She motions towards Rory who's chatting with some relatives across the room.

Janet's eyes widen. "No way," she says. "She's half grown up already. How can she be your kid?"

Lorelai shrugs. "Well if she's not mine, then somebody owes me a lot of money for all the diapers I shelled out for." She nods towards them. "What's up with you guys, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing as exciting as you, I graduated from Smith and went to law school," Janet replies with a roll of her eyes, like this is mundane and boring. "Now I'm studying for the bar, and trying to squeeze in some time with my boyfriend once in a while." She brightens. "Hey, he has a place out in the Hamptons, you should come out for a weekend sometime."

Lorelai would rather gouge out her eyes with a rusty spoon, but she plasters on a smile and replies, "Oh, that sounds great." She changes the subject. "What about you, Kelly?"

Janet answers for her with a twinkle in her eye. "Our girl Kelly here just started a rock collection."

Kelly blushes, but obligingly holds out her left hand for all to admire the sizeable diamond ring that encircles her ring finger.

"Wow, congratulations," Lorelai comments. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Remember Frank Parisi?" Kelly asks.

Lorelai gasps. "No way. Wasn't he the one who joined the Church of Satan and became a warlock?"

Kelly laughs. "That was him. He's turned out to be a perfectly respectable cardiologist, although we're definitely not having a church wedding. Right now we're thinking October in Hawaii."

"Well, just make sure your vendor itemizes everything down to the last detail," Lorelai advises, launching into professional mode. "I've heard some scary things about those Hawaii weddings. Also if you're renting a limo, you should inspect it ahead of time." They're both looking at her questioningly. "I'm a wedding planner at the Inn," she explains.

"Oh, what a fabulous job," Kelly muses. "It sounds so much more fun than being a portfolio manager."

"I enjoy it," Lorelai replies. Politeness fulfilled, she decides to make her escape. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to go check up on my daughter. It was nice seeing both of you."

She makes her way back over to Rory, who's helping herself to some hors d'oeuvres. "Did you know that you have an aunt who owns a coffee shop in Alaska?" Rory asks.

Lorelai frowns. "Really? I didn't think they allowed bluebloods up that far north."

"Who was that you were talking to?"

"Oh, just some people I went to high school with," she replies with a sigh. "And now I'm feeling the need to find my local chapter of Underachievers Anonymous."

* * *

Emily has been oddly scarce, so Lorelai seeks her out and finds her in the dining room, checking up on the dinner preparations. "So how've you been, Mom?"

"Fine," her mother replies curtly. She picks up a pair of place cards and swaps them.

"Still doing your thing with the DAR?"

She contemplates for a moment and swaps the place cards back again. "Yes," she replies finally.

It's unlike her to be so terse. Lorelai tries again. "Hey, is Dee-Dee Wallace still there? Does she still play that weird Norwegian fiddle thing?"

"Not recently." Now she's rearranging silverware; no doubt the maid has confused the cocktail fork with the fish fork, or some other ridiculous gaffe again.

More silence from her mother. There's definitely something going on here. If all was well, paradoxically, her mother would be entirely unrestrained with her jabs at Lorelai. Her silence is a clear indication of some real ire, simmering under the surface that she's covering up for the sake of decorum.

Still, Lorelai makes one last attempt. "What about Pauline Svec? She was always a lot of fun to have around."

"Yes, she's still there."

Finally Lorelai sighs in frustration. "Mom, I'm really trying here, but I need more than monosyllables from you."

"What do you want me to say, Lorelai?"

The chill in her voice is almost enough to wipe out global warming, and Lorelai is at a loss. "Oh, I don't know," she shrugs. "How about 'how are you doing, Lorelai?' Or, 'How is Rory doing in school, Lorelai?' Heck, at this point I'd even settle for a 'are you dating anyone, Lorelai?'"

Her mother picks up a trivet and moves it, slamming it down again sharply enough to make Lorelai jump. "Lorelai, we already covered the formalities when you arrived, and I really don't have anything else to say." She turns and stalks back towards the living room where the guests are congregated.

Lorelai follows. "Is there some problem here that I'm not aware of?"

"I'm not discussing this with you right now," Emily hisses under her breath.

Lorelai actually has to run to keep up with her. "OK, but I think that 'not discussing' thing would probably be a lot easier if I knew exactly what it is that I'm not supposed to be discussing."

Her mother spins back to face her, eyes blazing. "We are not discussing the fact that you insist on flaunting your poverty every time you come here."

This takes a moment for Lorelai to process. "Excuse me?"

"Every chance you get, you just love showing us how hard-up you are."

"You're getting _mad_ at me for _not_ having money?" she asks incredulously.

"Wearing that dress two years in a row, as if you're just so poor you can't possibly afford even one new dress," Emily seethes. "I seriously think you do it deliberately."

Oh. That. "I'm deliberately choosing my outfits to annoy you? Oh, Mom, I have plenty of other clothes that you'd find much more annoying than this." Probably not the most helpful response, she realizes too late.

"'Look at how hard my life is,'" her mother mimics bitterly. "'I'll endure just about anything as long as I don't have to live here.'"

"Oh, Mom, no…" Lorelai protests, but it's too late. Emily has stalked off back to the living room to play her role of the good hostess with her other guests.

Rory appears from around a corner and her wide eyes make it clear that she's heard the whole thing. "The frumpy pantsuit probably would've been a better choice," she says.

* * *

She avoids her mother for the remainder of the party, and spends her time making polite conversation with her great-uncle Ted, whom she can't ever recall meeting, despite the fact that he claims he used to take her to the zoo on a regular basis when she was seven years old.

Some time is also spent chatting with Nick Sommersby, son of George, who works with her father at the insurance firm. Nick is in his first year at Columbia, isn't actually old enough to drink yet, though he makes it quite clear to Lorelai that he very much likes to date older women – and he likes children, to boot.

By 9:30, she's more than ready to leave. Using Rory as an excuse, ("She gets horribly cranky if she's up past her bedtime,") she locates their coats in the closet.

Her father spots them and makes his way over to help her on with her coat. "Thanks for everything, Dad," Lorelai says, slipping on her gloves and hat. "Tell Mom I'm sorry – I really wasn't trying to upset her."

"I know, Lorelai," he replies with a deep nod. "I wanted to catch you before you left because I have something for you." He reaches into his breast pocket and retrieves an envelope. "It's just a little Christmas present."

Lorelai takes it and opens it. It contains a Christmas card with a check tucked inside. She reads the figure and her eyes widen. "Two thousand dollars? Dad, this is way too much, I can't accept it." She makes a motion to hand it back to him.

He doesn't take it, so she's left waving it aimlessly in the air.

He sighs. "Lorelai, it is just a Christmas present," he says calmly, eyebrows raised, like he's trying to calm down a child having a tantrum. Which is probably how he sees her, she's well aware.

Lorelai clenches and releases her fists. "No, Dad," she explains, "a fondue pot is 'just a Christmas present'. A pair of socks. A basket of bath products. This, on the other hand, feels like charity."

"And we all know how horrible that would be," Richard grumbles. "God forbid you accept help from anyone. Your mother was right – you'll do anything in the world before taking something from us."

He's right, of course, but it's a truth that can't be spoken aloud. So she sighs and rolls her eyes. "Dad…" she protests, waving the check at him again.

"It's just a Christmas present, Lorelai. Just so you can get something nice for yourself and for Rory. That's all it is."

Lorelai takes a deep breath, swallows her pride and folds the check back into the envelope. "OK, Dad. Thank you."

"Merry Christmas, Lorelai," he says, opening the door for them.

Lorelai ekes out a small smile. "Merry Christmas, Dad. Please tell Mom that I wasn't trying to upset her."

"Bye Grandpa," Rory says as they head out the door.

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

The cold December night air is sharp against Lorelai's skin as they exit her parents' house. It squeezes at her lungs even as it makes her heart pump faster with adrenaline – and freedom from that house and that life.

They make their way to the car and climb in. "Ready to go home?" she asks Rory.

"Sure."

Lorelai starts the car, mentally calculating how long it will take to drive home, get into her fuzzy pajamas and curl up on the couch…

She grips the steering wheel and lets her shoulders sag. "I'm not."

"You're not what?"

She turns to Rory. "I'm not ready to go home. I want to do something. I want to go somewhere. Dance on some tables. Wear a lampshade on my head." Two hours of a society cocktail party and she's bouncing off the walls, rebounding like a boomerang. Freud would have a field day with her.

Rory gives her a look like she's already wearing said lampshade. "You do know that they don't let nine-year-olds into dance clubs, right?"

Then comes the idea. "I know!" she cries, bouncing in her seat. "I know where we can go. Nothing too wild, just a place where we can get a little something to go with…" she rummages in her pocketbook and produces a small napkin-wrapped packet. "…these," she concludes, holding it up with a twinkle in her eye.

"You didn't," Rory accuses.

"Oh yes I did," Lorelai says. "Two apple tarts. And we all know what goes best with apple tarts."

"Coffee," Rory says, rolling her eyes. "So we're actually going _out_ for coffee? Aren't we feeling rich tonight."

"Hey, I just got $2000, I can splurge a little."

* * *

Luke's diner is almost empty at this late hour, so they have their pick of tables. Rory chooses one by the side window allowing them an unobscured view of the town square, where they can see Kirk working to hang Christmas lights on a tall Christmas tree. He's completely entangled in yards upon yards of light strands, and Lorelai giggles to herself as she thinks that the task, as well as the tree, appear to be far over his head.

Luke spots them as they sit down and he comes over, pad of paper in hand. "No egg in your hair today?" he asks her in greeting.

None of the usual niceties with him, it would seem. She likes that. "No, today it's on my face," Lorelai replies.

"Figuratively," Rory supplies.

He glares at her with a grin poking at the corners. "I got that," he says. "You two look dressed up, this isn't on my account, is it?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Lorelai says, waving a hand at him dismissively. "We're here to de-stress. We just came from my parents' Christmas party, at which event I was, let's run down the list, shall we? Falsely accused, misunderstood, humiliated, made to feel like a complete failure, and finally given a big fat check for dirty guilt money."

Luke taps his pen on his knuckles thoughtfully. "Well you lost me on the dirty guilt money part, but the rest sounds pretty standard for a family gathering."

He says it with just the perfect degree of vicarious cynicism, so she can't resist elaborating. She holds up the check to show him. "Get this. In my father's world, this is 'just a little Christmas present.'"

Luke reads the figures and nods appreciatively. "Pretty generous gift."

Lorelai shakes her head vigorously. "Oh, no, this is not generosity," she assures him. "This is disapproval. This is control. This is guilt. This is my parents trying anything they can to get their claws back into me so they can rein me back into their world."

Luke narrows his eyes at her curiously. "You don't get along with your parents very well, do you?"

"No she doesn't," interjects Rory grimly.

"The whole 'getting pregnant at sixteen and running away' thing did some pretty severe damage to the relationship," Lorelai acknowledges.

"So why'd you take the check?" asks Luke.

Lorelai sighs. "Because I was trying to see if we could get together just once without any angst, any guilt trips, and anything whatsoever that might bring the name 'Menendez' to mind, and since that idea had already crashed, sizzled, burned, and was completely incinerated, I was trying not to make the situation any worse."

"You could just not cash the check," Luke suggests.

"Oh, but they'll know," Lorelai says, waggling a finger at him. "They will be checking with their bank each and every day until they get confirmation that it's been cashed, and if I go longer than a week before I do it, I'll be subjected to daily phone calls and reminders. It would be even worse than refusing to take it." She knows she sounds paranoid – borderline psychotic even, regarding her parents. Rory is used to it, but she's not sure how Luke will take her perpetual parental angst. Though judging by his reaction so far, he seems to be taking it in stride. Almost surprisingly so.

Her elbow on the table, she leans her chin on her fist and sighs. "I suppose I should just suck it up and put it in the house fund."

"We're saving up to buy a house," Rory explains to Luke.

"Sounds like a smart move," Luke says. He lifts up his pad of paper and taps a pen on it. "You ready to order?"

"Hot chocolate for me, please," Rory orders.

"I'll have a large coffee," Lorelai says. "The largest coffee known to exist, please."

The glare-grin again from Luke. Seems to be his thing. "How about I just bring you the whole pot?" he offers.

She gives a deep sigh. "Well, if that's the best you can do."

"Why are you drinking coffee, anyway?" Luke frowns at her. "I thought you were here to de-stress."

"We are. I'm so keyed-up right now, coffee will feel like a downer." As if to illustrate her point, she drops her ring of keys that she's been fidgeting with.

He nods slowly, clearly humoring her. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No thanks, we brought our own," Lorelai explains, removing the packet of apple tarts from her pocketbook. "Can we get a plate for these?"

"Whoa," Luke waggles an index finger at her. "No bringing food in here."

"Oh, but this is not food," Lorelai protests. "These are my parents' Christmas party apple tarts. These are slices of heaven, interspersed between slivers of Nirvana with a dash of Paradise mixed in. I promise you, this is not nourishment, this is a _religious experience_."

He raises an eyebrow. "So what you're saying is that the Dalai Lama should just skip the fasting and have some apple tarts instead?"

Lorelai smiles sweetly. "You're getting the idea."

"Well far be it from me to get in the way of your First Amendment rights," Luke concedes. "I'll go get your coffee."

Lorelai studies him as he heads back behind the counter. He gave in more easily than she'd expected, but she can tell that he enjoys trading jabs. Maybe he's just offering this in return. Or maybe he's just going easy on them since the diner is so empty right now.

Either way, there's still the matter of her father's 'little Christmas present.' She turns to Rory and sighs. "Rory, I don't think I can put the money in the house fund."

"Why not?"

"Because if I bought a house with money that my parents gave me, I'd be constantly wondering which piece of the house really belonged to them. I'd turn on the water in the kitchen and wonder if it was really _their_ sink and _their_ water. I'd look out the window and wonder if I was looking through _their_ glass."

Rory shakes her head. "You're certifiable, you know that?" Just then, Luke returns with their drinks and Rory repeats the sentiment to him, "Did you know that she's absolutely certifiable?"

"I had my suspicions," he replies.

She doesn't expect Rory to understand at her age, but Luke must have _some_ frame of reference. She ponders, searching for an analogy, and finally comes up with a meaningful, if somewhat extreme example. "OK, then," she poses to him, "Let me ask you this: if John Gotti gave you $2000, would you be able to spend it in good conscience?"

"You're comparing Grandpa with John Gotti?" Rory asks.

This is what she gets for having a nine-year-old daughter who reads the newspapers every day. "It's just an example," she says dismissively.

"If John Gotti was giving me money, I'd have bigger problems than figuring out how to spend it," Luke replies, missing the point entirely.

But then comes the brainstorm. "You could give it to charity," Rory suggests.

No, _this_ is what she gets for having a brilliant daughter. Lorelai gasps in delight. "That's it! We'll give it to some charity that would drive my parents _insane_."

"Greenpeace?" Luke offers.

"Actually I was thinking more along the lines of the NEA. Or maybe Habitat for Humanity."

"What've they got against Habitat for Humanity?" Luke asks.

"Jimmy Carter," she explains. "OK, that's what we'll do," she says to Rory. "We'll each buy a small gift for ourselves, but it has to be something that they would _hate_, and then we'll donate the rest."

"Always good to have a plan," Luke comments wryly as he heads back behind the counter.

* * *

An hour later, it's becoming clear that they're overstaying their welcome. They've been playing Bingo with the diner menus (not very successfully), trying to list foods for every letter of the alphabet (also a bust) and finally settled on table hockey, using the salt shaker as a puck, which resulted, inevitably, in said salt shaker shattering into a million pieces on the floor.

Luke delivered the check about a half hour ago. He's definitely not getting rich off of their one cup of hot chocolate and one coffee. In fact, taking into account the broken salt shaker, it might just be a wash.

Everyone else has left, and he's not-so-subtly cleaning up the place around them. Lorelai is tempted to see just how far she can push him, but when Rory lets out a yawn so wide that her whole body shudders visibly, she decides maybe it's time to go home and get her to bed. So she gets to her feet, takes the check in hand and heads over to the cash register.

Luke spots her and makes his way behind the counter to meet her, where he accepts her five dollars and brushes off her attempt to leave a tip.

While he's handling the money, Lorelai glances around the diner, taking note of the utter lack of Christmas decorations in the place. "So what are you guys doing for Christmas?" she questions him. "You have, of course, bought the obligatory pile of presents for your daughter that would rival Mount Everest in size?"

He frowns at her like she's out of her mind; like she's just suggested a trip to the moon. "She's not even two yet, she has no idea what Christmas even is. We could give her a pine cone and she'd be overjoyed."

Lorelai bounces on her toes. "But I bet you're getting something fabulous for Anna," she prods.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "I got her a treadmill."

Not much of a romantic, this guy. "And you're expecting this woman to marry you?"

He picks up a rag and begins wiping down the counter. "Well if she doesn't, at least I'll have a way to stay in shape," he deadpans in reply.

She can't just let it go at that. "Luke, you have to get her something romantic, not something that says 'lose weight, fatso'."

He tosses the rag onto the counter with a bit more force than necessary and turns to her with piercing eyes. "She's been complaining constantly about not being able to lose the pregnancy weight and never having time to exercise. This is a very thoughtful gift."

Lorelai raises a single eyebrow and nods ironically. "Oh, and I'm sure they thought Prohibition was thoughtful at the time too. Doesn't mean it was appreciated." She points an index finger at him emphatically. "What every mother of a young child wants is some quality time to herself. You should get her a gift certificate for a day at the spa."

To her surprise, he actually takes the suggestion seriously. He's quiet for a moment, pondering. "Maybe," he says finally.

A glance back at Rory shows that her eyes are drooping and her face is about to plunge down into her book, so Lorelai turns to leave. "Anyway, Merry Christmas," she bids him farewell. "I guess I'll be seeing you guys soon, we need to start talking about reception music."

Luke holds up a finger. "Hang on a sec." He disappears back into the kitchen and reappears a moment later, carrying a paper bag which he holds out to her.

"What's this?"

"Just a couple donuts," Luke replies. "I'm getting ready to close up and they'll just get thrown away otherwise. They won't bring on any spiritual revelations, but I thought you guys might like them."

"Thanks," Lorelai replies, surprised.

"She seems like a good kid," Luke says suddenly, nodding towards Rory, who's still nodding off over her book. At least she's hunched over the table so when she does fall asleep, she won't fall off the chair.

"She's the best," Lorelai agrees. "We had a little angst last week when she found out the truth about Santa Claus, but in general, I couldn't ask for a better daughter."

"I can only hope April turns out so well," Luke comments.

She shrugs. "Well, Rory's not exactly a finished product yet. We still have the wonderful teenage years to look forward to. But really, just treat them with respect and give them a good, loving home, don't let them become a child actor, and I can't see how you can go too far wrong."

Luke presses his lips together. "Sometimes that's easier said than done." He says it quietly, seriously, like there's something behind the words, but before Lorelai has a chance to ponder further, he's asking, "You're on your own with her? No father involved?"

"He pops in every so often," Lorelai replies. "But I'm mostly on my own."

Luke shakes his head. "I don't get how someone can do that - walk out on their kid."

"Well, he never really walked in in the first place," Lorelai replies. She really doesn't want to get into this right now, so she tries again to bid him goodbye. "Anyway, we need to get going. Enjoy your holidays, Christmas, New Year's, Chanukah, Solstice, Kwanzaa, Dirty Feet Day, Kiss-Your-Mailman Day, whatever."

She turns back to Rory but Luke interrupts her again. "PETA," he says.

It's almost like he doesn't want her to leave. She wonders if it's personal, or if he just doesn't like an empty diner. Either way, she has no idea what he's talking about, so she spins back to face him. "What?"

"To donate your money to," he clarifies. "Seems like something that would drive your parents batty. Insane anti-fur people, and all that."

He's right about that, but there's one problem. "Nah," she shakes her head, "they'd try to turn me into a vegetarian."

But then he nails it. "How about the ACLU? Protecting your religious freedom to bring apple tarts into diners everywhere."

She feels a grin spread across her face. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner." She gives him a nod in thanks, and turns back to Rory, who is now fully face-down in her book. A poke on her shoulder wakes her up, and together they both get their coats on to leave.

Rory gives Luke a wave as they make their exit. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Luke," Lorelai echoes.

"Merry Christmas," Luke replies.

He speaks in a warm, gentle tone that catches Lorelai off-guard. As she steps out the door, she looks back and finds his gaze fixed on her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and a slight flush of red on his cheeks.

He looks down, she turns and shakes her head and makes her exit out into the night.

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

It's Christmas Eve, and the Independence Inn is fully decked out. Despite his complaints about climbing stepladders and putting his carefully-manicured hands to work, Michel has proven to be an excellent decorator, and has hung a generous display of garlands, lights and sparkling decorations throughout the lobby and dining room.

Lorelai is in charge of the McBride family Christmas party being held this evening. Most of the other Inn staff has gone home to be with their families, except for Tobin the night manager, Sookie, Michel, and the waitstaff that are working the event.

Lorelai makes her way through the partygoers in the dining room, making sure the servers are circulating adequately, verifying that everyone has a beverage, and checking with the party hosts to see if anything needs attending to. It's just past seven o'clock now, right about the hour that people normally start really letting loose, particularly at large Christmas parties on Christmas Eve. Lorelai has noticed it repeatedly over the years; it's as if the darkness of the post-dinner hour swallows up all vestiges of restraint and decorum in anticipation of tomorrow's festivities, turning otherwise well-mannered people into drooling, lascivious animals that might even give Anna Nicole Smith a run for her money.

She picks up a tray of dirty dishes from the servers' station and enters the kitchen. "Sookie, we're in desperate need of more crab puffs!" she calls.

Sookie is bent over an oven, pulling out a baking sheet. She burns her finger and the sheet goes clattering to the floor. "They're coming, they're coming," Sookie assures her, sucking on her finger.

"How's the eggnog supply holding out?" Lorelai asks, not missing a beat – if she stopped to worry every time Sookie hurt herself in the kitchen they'd never get anything done. "Can I get a few more drinks to pump into Mr. McBride? I swear he's made at least five passes at me tonight."

"And you want to give him _more_ alcohol?" Sookie wonders.

"He's only a drink or two short of passing out," Lorelai explains. "Then I can get his wife to take him up to his room." A raucous cheer sounds from the other room. "Excuse me for a sec, if I don't go get the pianist to play 'Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire' soon we're going to have a revolt of about ten sixty-year-old women on our hands." She grabs a pitcher of eggnog and heads back out into the dining room.

She brings the pitcher over to the bartender, and then notices Michel coming over to see her. "Lorelai, there is a person at the desk asking for you," he informs her.

"Who is it?"

Fingers bent, he picks at his manicure. "I do not know and did not care enough to ask."

Lorelai thinks she may just have to 'not care enough' about where the McBrides dispose of their six-month-old granddaughter's next diaper. But for now, she ignores Michel and goes back out into the lobby to see who the visitor is.

She spots the familiar blond head, back turned to her, and her heart does its usual flip-flop as a lump forms in her stomach. She sucks in a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Christopher," she says softly.

He turns to see her and his face brightens. "Hey," he says jovially as he leans in to give her a hug.

"What are you doing here?" Lorelai asks, because with him, she always needs to ask.

Whether she gets a complete answer is another matter. He shakes his head, like he's anticipated her, like he's already denying any hidden motives. "I just thought I'd stop by to spend Christmas Eve with my favorite Gilmores," he replies. "Don't worry, I'm not coming empty-handed." He indicates the pile of luggage and shopping bags spread out on the floor next to him.

He must be doing well; he must be on one of his upswings – a good investment or a promising business opportunity – to be showing up like this, loaded down with gifts.

But then again, that's the only time he ever does show up.

Lorelai doesn't have time for this. "Chris, I'm working," she informs him impatiently. "We're hosting a party. I won't be done till after midnight."

"That's OK, I don't mind waiting," Christopher replies, unfazed. "Where's Rory? I've got a pile of presents here for her."

He turns his head to look around and the lights on the tree behind him reflect off the blond strands on his head – he's wearing it a little longer and shaggier these days. The overall effect is an angelic glow above his head, a visible embodiment of the promises he always makes – and Lorelai always wants to believe in, but never quite can.

Her head sags and she gives a sigh in resignation. "Come on," she says, motioning for him to follow her.

Christopher grabs several of his bags as she leads him into the Inn lounge, where they find Rory curled up on a couch, head buried in a book. "Hey, kid," he says in greeting. He reaches down and ruffles her hair.

Rory looks up, her face brightens like lightening, making Lorelai's stomach flip over. "Dad!" she cries joyfully as she springs up to give him a hug. "Did we know you were coming?" she says in Lorelai's direction.

Standing behind him, Lorelai shakes her head.

"No, I thought I'd surprise the two of you." Christopher reaches into one of his bags and pulls out a package. "Here you go, Merry Christmas," he says. "Unless you're one of those people who thinks it's sacrilege to open anything before Christmas morning." He glances over at Lorelai to get her approval.

As if she could refuse now. "Go ahead," Lorelai says, hoping he's got the sense not to pull a Richard Gilmore here. No diamond earrings or trips to France or anything that might bring the name 'Rockefeller' to mind.

Rory eagerly tears off the wrapping paper to reveal a chess set. "Thanks, Dad," she says, giving him another hug.

"There's plenty more where that came from, but I'll leave the rest for tomorrow," Christopher informs her.

"Are you staying for Christmas?" Rory asks hopefully, bouncing eagerly as she kneels on the couch.

Christopher shrugs with feigned reluctance. "Well, I'm supposed to see my parents tomorrow, but I can stay the night."

Apparently 'imposition' is not in his vocabulary. "Chris, we don't have anywhere for you to stay," Lorelai protests. "Our place is too small and the Inn is full." That's not entirely true – she could probably scrounge up a bed for him somewhere – their couch in the garden shed at the very least, but it's just too close for comfort.

Thankfully, he doesn't argue. "No room at the Inn? How appropriate. It's fine, Lor. I'll just hang here with Rory until you're off work, we'll play a few rounds of chess, and I'll head back to Hartford later tonight."

* * *

It's past midnight when the McBride party is finally done, cleaned up and all the staff gone home for the night, and Lorelai finally has some down time. She makes her way down the hall to the Inn lounge to find Christopher stretched out on a couch, deeply engrossed in an issue of _Martha Stewart Living_.

"Looking for some advice on choosing a bed skirt?" Lorelai asks.

"Hey," he says, swinging his feet down to sit up. "Rory went to bed a couple hours ago, I've just been killing time here with Martha. Great article here on omelet making, apparently I've been doing it all wrong."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to speak to you about that." She plops down on the couch next to him.

Christopher leans over the edge of the couch to retrieve a small box from one of his shopping bags. He hands it to her. "Merry Christmas."

"Thanks, Chris," she says, surprised. She opens the box to reveal a pair of silver earrings. "Oh, they're gorgeous," she admires, leaning over to give him a hug. "You know, I don't have anything for you – it's the price you pay for showing up unannounced."

"Get me a couple of those crab puffs and we'll call it even." He leans over again and rummages around in another shopping bag. "I also brought a little something for the two of us to share." With a gleam in his eye, he holds up a bottle of vodka.

She feels a grin spread across her face. "I'll drink to that."

He opens the bottle and hands it to her. "So how's everything with Straub and Francine?" she asks, closing her eyes and taking a swig. She swallows more than expected and gives a shudder.

"Oh, same as always," he shrugs. "Straub spending all his time with old businessmen in suits and ties, drinking brandy and smoking cigars. Francine is immersed in society fundraisers, tea parties and face lifts. Nothing changes in their world, I'm just in town to pay them the obligatory annual visit. How're Emily and Richard?"

She hands him back the bottle. "The same. Exactly the same. Obligatory visit paid about two weeks ago," she replies. "I even tried a little bridge-building with them, and discovered that I have no future whatsoever in the bridge construction field."

"You'd look funny in the hardhat anyway," he replies nonchalantly, lifting the bottle to his lips for a large swallow.

She nudges him with her elbow. "Hey, I ran into Janet Levy and Kelly Smythe at my parents' party."

"No way," he chuckles. "Those two still hanging out together? Kelly's not in prison yet? I swear the stuff she got away with in high school…"

"She's not in prison," Lorelai confirms. "They both graduated from excellent colleges, and are probably each earning enough money to feed several small Third World countries." She sits back into the corner of the couch. "Leading lives so upstanding that my parents would gladly trade me in for either one of them."

Christopher follows suit, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Did I ever tell you that Janet and I made out once at Dawn Turner's 15th birthday party?"

"At least five times," Lorelai rolls her eyes. "You'd think after a decade you wouldn't feel the need to brag about it any more." She sits up and crosses her legs under her. "So get this – Kelly is engaged to Frank Parisi."

Christopher gives a laugh. "I remember Frank. He's the one who came up with that idea for us to put Styrofoam balls into the air conditioner at school that one time. It coated the whole faculty lounge with an inch of fake snow." He smiles at the memory. "Definitely one of my prouder moments." His head sinks back to rest on the back of the couch.

Lorelai picks up the bottle and takes another swig as she regards him. He's the same as ever – faded jeans and stubbly face, all giving the appearance of ease, of laid-back congeniality. His smile, his ease with people, his charm – it's all so familiar and she feels the inexorable tug at her gut. It would be so easy to slip back into their old patterns…

Time to put the brakes on. "Where've you been, Christopher?"

He doesn't react. His eyes are closed and for a moment she wonders if he's fallen asleep, but then finally he replies in an even tone, "Boston. I'm starting a new business."

Same as ever. She should've guessed. "What is it this time Chris?" she asks with a roll of her eyes. "Shoelaces? Microwave oven accessories? Telephone sanitizers?"

He lifts his head to look at her directly. "It's different this time, Lor."

"How long have you been in business?"

"Three weeks."

The length of time may vary slightly but other than that, they've had this exact conversation, almost verbatim, more times that she cares to remember. She sinks her head back into the cushion. "Come back and talk to me in six months and then _maybe_ I'll consider that it _might_ be different."

"It is, Lor," he insists. "I've got partners. Experts. Real computer whizzes. Investors too. I'm telling you, there's a technology revolution coming and we're catching the wave. Bad Wolf Technologies we're calling it – it's going to be big."

_Investors_ – actually it does sound more promising than usual, but she's a long way from convinced. "I hope it is, Chris," Lorelai shakes her head doubtfully. "Just forgive me if I'm not ready to crack open the champagne and throw confetti just yet."

"I guess I deserve that," Christopher sighs. He takes another sip from the bottle.

She reaches over to give his hand a squeeze. "You know, nobody wants you to succeed more than I do," she says gently

"You do?"

That hurts. Does he think she _wants_ him to screw up? "Of course I do. Chris." She frowns at him. "I've always wanted you to make the bigtime, go for the gold, grab the brass ring and any other sappy clichés you can come up with." She looks away. "It's one reason we didn't get married."

"It is?"

How can this be a surprise to him? Or is he just playing clueless to get her to open up? Either is possible with him and she's having trouble looking him in the eye to judge right now. "Chris, you had plans. You had all these exciting things you were going to do. I wasn't going to spoil that by shackling you to a job and a life that would've made you want to scratch out your eyeballs with a staple remover."

He doesn't reply. The silence between them is full of unspoken thoughts and musings of long-abandoned futures, but it's not uncomfortable as they pass the bottle back and forth for another round of swigs.

She's the first to break the silence. "Chris?"

"Mmm?"

She bites her lip. "I – I hope, I mean, you know you're welcome to come see us any time, right?"

There's a slosh and a clink as he sets the bottle down. When he turns to meet her gaze it's with a questioning frown.

Lorelai pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms round them. "I just got to thinking, you know, back when it happened, I got so caught up in how the pregnancy was going to affect my life and your life, and even our parents' lives, I didn't really think how it would affect Rory's life. I just knew – _knew_ – I didn't want the life they were planning for us." She gives a sigh. "So I ran."

"So if it hadn't been your parents' idea, you might've married me?" He says it lightly, with one eyebrow raised but he's still looking at her so intently.

She rolls her eyes. There's no other possible response. "Come on, Chris, we weren't ready. We were only sixteen."

He stretches his legs out and rests his head back on the cushion. "God, it seems like a lifetime ago. You're doing an amazing job with her, though. She's a heck of a kid." He stretches his arms out across the back of the couch behind her, not touching her shoulders but not far behind.

Lorelai shakes her head. "No thanks to me. It's gotta be in the genes or something. She's such an easy, fantastic kid. I just – well, you know she misses you, right?"

Now it's his turn to look away.

"I didn't mean – I mean, you know that when I ran away I wasn't trying to take her away from you. I hope you didn't think that." She reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze. "Because we'd really like to see you around here more often."

He touches a finger to her chin, turning her to face him. "Both of you?" he asks.

"Of course, both of us." When she nods, she can feel the vodka clouding her brain.

He looks up at the ceiling. "Actually I did have an idea. I was thinking about taking the two of you to Times Square for New Year's Eve. I wasn't sure if you'd be interested."

"Well I have to work," she replies, "but Rory would love that." It's a step, anyway.

"Who the heck works on New Year's Eve?"

"Prostitutes, drug dealers, Dick Clark, and every party planner in the world."

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. "And which of those are you?"

"Definitely not Dick Clark," she fires back, "the rest is up for debate." She shifts in her seat, tucking one leg under her to turn towards him. "So can I tell Rory you'll be by to pick her up?"

He nods. "Tell her to be ready at 6:00."

And then he kisses her.

It's sudden and clumsy, the way his nose bumps hers. His lips taste of vodka, his breath is short with expectancy. It's hardly the first time they've kissed so there's a familiarity there, a level of comfort that makes her respond instinctively. Her mouth relaxes and opens and she presses back.

_No. Not now. Not like this._

She stiffens and pulls away.

He gives a deep sigh, takes a swig of vodka and sinks back into the couch. "Are you seeing someone?"

"No."

His eyes fall shut. "Did I misunderstand the whole 'wanting me around more' thing?"

Did he? Or did she? She knows she's giving mixed signals here, but they're no more mixed than her feelings. It's Christopher. Her head is never on quite straight when he's around. "M-maybe," she stammers finally. "I – I don't know, I just…" she breaks off.

"You just what, Lorelai?" There's an edge in his voice now.

She slides away from him on the couch, telling herself it's so she can see him clearly. "Chris, I have a kid." She thumps a fist lightly on the cushion. "There's no casual dating for single mothers. If I'm going to get involved with someone, I need to be certain that I can count on them 100%."

"You don't trust me." It's not a question, it's an accusation.

"Chris, you don't exactly have the greatest track record. If I'm going to bring someone into Rory's life…"

"Lor, I'm her _father_," he interrupts, gesticulating insistently. "I'm already in her life. Doesn't that simplify things a little?"

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Actually, Chris, it makes them about ten times more complicated."

Everything is backwards with the two of them; she knows it but he doesn't. It's like the old nursery rhyme, 'First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Rory in the baby carriage,' but it's all upside-down for them. Rory is long past the baby carriage stage, but the 'love' and 'marriage' parts…well, there's no knowing about that.

Chris is still trying to do it in the conventional order. He thinks if he can love her enough, he'll just magically become a family man. But Lorelai needs to believe in the family man before she can love him.

And she can't tell him this. Telling him would completely defeat the purpose.

So she sits next to him in silence. He passes her the bottle. She takes another drink.

Finally he gets to his feet. "I guess I should go."

It's so predictable, she wants to scream, but she bites her tongue and steers back to the one point she really wants to get across. "Chris, I did mean it, that we'd both like to see you more. Rory needs you, and if you could just…" _Get your shit together_, she doesn't say.

He hears it anyway. "If I could just," he echoes, his lips pressed together with more than a trace of bitterness. He grabs his coat, slings it on and gathers up a few of his bags. "Those are for Rory," he says, indicating the remaining ones. "I'll see you around, Lor." He turns and heads for the door.

"Merry Christmas, Christopher," she says quietly after him.

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

It's New Years Eve at the Inn and Lorelai is directing traffic once again for a holiday celebration. The waitstaff is working on setting up the dining room, the musicians are assembling their sound system, and the liquor store has arrived to deliver enough booze to keep all of Connecticut completely plastered for a week.

In the midst of the chaos, Lorelai is at the front desk, searching for a phone number in the depths of her planner. She hears footsteps approach and looks up to see Rory, who's wearing a warm wool sweater and carrying her coat in anticipation of her father's arrival. "Got your long johns on?" Lorelai questions. "It's going to be a cold night in Times Square." The weather forecast is predicting temperatures in the twenties and below. Lorelai is secretly thankful – just a little bit – that she can't join them.

"Yes, Mom," Rory replies obediently. "Long johns, three layers underneath my wool sweater, _and_ two pairs of socks."

"Oh, you _are_ prepared. Those Boy Scouts have got nothing on you, babe." She locates the scrap of paper she's been searching for and holds it up triumphantly. "Aha!"

Michel emerges from the kitchen, spots Rory and eyes her up and down. "You are going out tonight?" he asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Times Square, my Dad is taking me," Rory confirms.

He shakes his head. "I cannot see why anyone would drive through all that traffic to spend the night outside in the cold next to millions of other smelly bodies."

"Yeah, but the hot chocolate is awesome," Rory replies wryly. She's used to Michel by now.

"_And_ you get to be on TV," Lorelai adds.

Rory rolls her eyes. "Yeah, in a crowd of about a million other people, it's not like anyone's going to actually see me."

"Well, I have a perfectly wonderful evening planned," Michel informs them. "I will be out dancing the night away, and toasting the New Year with the perfect glass of champagne and the perfect kiss at midnight. _Much_ preferable to contracting pneumonia," he addresses Rory, "or working here like one of the Queen's minions," he says towards Lorelai.

Lorelai gasps. "Michel, _you're_ going to have a _drink_?"

"I am," he intones, pressing his lips together primly. "Every New Year's Eve I permit myself one glass of champagne, and I intend to savor it fully. So you can think of me tonight, warm and comfortable, sipping champagne on the dance floor while you are treating your frostbitten toes and fighting miles and miles of traffic in the smog-filled city."

Lorelai spots the bartender motioning to her. "Sounds like a blast, Michel. Excuse me for a moment." She goes into the dining room to see what he wants, where she's immediately inundated by a swarm of party workers with endless questions, so when Michel motions to her a few minutes later to indicate that she has a phone call, she motions back to him to take a message.

After dealing with a liquor crisis (only two out of three cases of rum were delivered), a problem the musicians are having with the power supply, and after making sure all the servers know to start pouring the champagne at 11:30 so that all partygoers will have a glass in their hands before midnight, Lorelai finally winds her way back info the lobby where Rory is seated in a chair, hunched over a book as she waits for Christopher.

Lorelai goes over to the front desk. "Who was on the phone?" she asks Michel.

He hands her a slip of paper where he's written down the message. "Somebody named Christopher," he informs her. "He says that he has the flu and will not be coming tonight."

A scream of frustration erupts from inside her that she only just manages to stifle. She takes a deep breath, bites her tongue, and slips back into the kitchen.

Sookie is there, sitting on the floor and rubbing her knee vigorously. "Tripped over some baking pans," she explains when she spots Lorelai. One of the kitchen staff comes by and hands her an ice pack, which she applies to her knee. Then she notices the look on Lorelai's face. "What's wrong?" she asks.

Lorelai grits her teeth. "Things are about to get a bit 'War of the Roses' with Christopher," she replies, pacing back and forth. "He just cancelled on Rory tonight."

"Oh no," Sookie says sympathetically. "She was so excited about it, too."

Lorelai's whole body is tense with fury. "You wouldn't happen to have a thumbscrew on you, would you?" she asks, accelerating her pacing. "I'm so furious with him I think I'd really enjoy crushing a small, sensitive part of his body right now."

"Did he say why?" Sookie asks. She pats the floor next to her for Lorelai to sit down.

Lorelai obliges with a heavy sigh. "He has the flu," she replies, rolling her eyes at Sookie to indicate that she doesn't believe his excuse for a second.

Sookie waggles her head from side to side. "Well you never know…"

Lorelai cuts her off before she goes any further. "No. Sookie, I talked to him yesterday to confirm everything and he sounded as healthy as an ox who just quit smoking, turned vegetarian and started an exercise routine." She thumps a fist on the floor. "And even if he is sick, I'm sorry, but he needs to just suck it up. He's disappointed her enough already."

"How did Rory take it?"

Lorelai's eyes sink shut. This is the part she's dreading the most. "I haven't told her yet," she admits. "I just got the message. I ducked back in here because I didn't want her to see my head explode."

Sookie giggles. "I wonder if anyone's head has ever actually exploded."

"God, I am _such_ an idiot," Lorelai scowls. "We had our little talk the other night, and I was thinking it might actually make a difference. I _told_ him how much Rory misses him, I _told_ him we wanted him around more, I even almost-sort-of-apologized to him for this whole situation we're in." She rubs a hand over her forehead. "How stupid am I that I thought things might be different now? I may as well have been talking to a brick wall."

Sookie reaches over to give her hand a squeeze. "Honey, I don't know what you're apologizing for, but if he doesn't want to be involved, there's nothing you can do about it."

"Oh, but he _does_ want to be involved - with me, at least," Lorelai says cynically. "And I can't get involved with him if I can't trust him to be there for Rory."

Sookie pats her shoulder comfortingly. "Well it's his loss. And it's a pretty big one."

"And his daughter's," Lorelai replies sadly, letting her eyes fall shut. "God, it's like there's no middle ground with him. If he can't have me, he doesn't want anything to do with either one of us." She gives a deep sigh. Time to go deliver the bad news. "I guess I should go tell her. So no thumbscrew then? How about a garrote? Nice, long, painful choking death?"

"Send her in here after you tell her, I'll make her the biggest ice cream sundae she's ever seen," Sookie offers as they both get to their feet. "That should help cheer her up."

"Thanks Sookie." Lorelai gives her friend a hug and then finds her way back out into the lobby where Rory is waiting. "Come on," she motions for her to follow, and leads her into the Inn lounge, where they can have a moment of privacy.

They sit down on the couch. "Hon, I have some bad news," she says gently, taking Rory's hand.

"Dad's not coming," Rory guesses.

It's heartbreaking; it's adding insult to injury, the fact that she guessed it so easily. It's wrong in more ways than she can count and Lorelai silently hurls more obscenities at Christopher. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she says with a sigh. "He's got the flu. He says he's really sorry, and he'll make it up to you."

Rory looks down at the floor. "Why does he always do this?"

Lorelai draws her into a hug. "Oh honey," she says gently into a faceful of hair. "I know you're disappointed. I don't know what to tell you, except to say that he didn't do it on purpose."

They hold the embrace until Rory pulls back, almost wilting out of Lorelai's hold. "I guess I can change out of my million layers of clothes," she says glumly.

Her tone jars Lorelai abruptly out of anger mode. She will _not_ allow any self-pity here. Time to think up an alternate plan. "Hey," she offers brightly, "I've got another idea. Why don't you call Lane and see if she'd like to spend the night here? Do you know if she's doing anything tonight?"

Rory perks up a little. "I think her mother was taking her to a midnight prayer vigil but maybe she'd let her come over here instead."

"Come on, let's give her a call." Together they head back out to the lobby and behind the front desk, where Rory picks up the phone and dials.

"Hi, Lane, it's Rory," Rory begins. She pauses while Lane speaks on the other end, then continues. "Hey, the thing with my Dad tonight isn't happening, so my mom and I were wondering if you wanted to sleep over." She puts her hand over the receiver and looks up at Lorelai. "She's checking with her Mom." A pause, then she uncovers the receiver and speaks into the phone. "Oh, hi Mrs. Kim. Sure, OK." Rory holds the phone out to Lorelai. "Mrs. Kim wants to talk to you."

Time for the interrogation. Lorelai takes the phone "Hi, Mrs. Kim," she greets her with all the cheerfulness she can muster.

"You want Lane to spend the night with you?" Mrs. Kim asks on the other end, her every syllable sounding like the firing of an automatic weapon.

"Um, yeah," Lorelai replies. "I just thought the girls would enjoy having a little New Year's Eve party together."

"You have boys there?" Mrs. Kim demands.

"No, of course not," Lorelai protests. "I mean, yeah, we've got a party going on at the Inn, but the girls won't be at it."

"But you will be?" It's uncanny, the way Lorelai can see the other woman's narrowed eyes glaring at her, even with miles separating them.

"I work here," Lorelai explains patiently. "I'm hosting the party."

"You host party, or you watch my daughter?"

"Both," Lorelai replies with a wink at Rory. "I will invoke my supernatural powers of time-travel in order to be in two places at once." Silence on the other end. Mrs. Kim knows her well enough not to respond, it would seem. Lorelai sucks in a deep breath. "Mrs. Kim, we've got a lounge here at the Inn where Rory hangs out all the time. The girls will be in there, they'll be away from the party but I'll still be nearby to watch them."

"Is there alcohol at this party?"

"Y-yes," Lorelai replies hesitantly, "but my daughter won't be going anywhere near it and I can assure you neither will yours."

"You say prayers before bed?"

"Uh, sure," Lorelai stammers. "We can do that."

"Lane must say prayers and read two chapters in the Bible each night. You must make sure."

"Yes, Mrs. Kim," Lorelai agrees.

"You have guns at your Inn?" asks Mrs. Kim.

She _can't_ just let that one slide. "I don't personally," she jokes, "but I think the gangsters in room 214 were packing."

"No guns," Mrs. Kim insists.

"No, I'm sorry Mrs. Kim, I was just making a humorous comment, sometimes referred to as a joke."

"My daughter does not eat meat or dairy products. You have food for her, or should I send some Tofu Pups with her?"

"Some what?"

"Tofu Pups. Vegetarian hot dogs," Mrs. Kim explains.

A million quips flood into her mind but she bites them back. Not one of them will be appreciated by this woman. "That's not necessary," she replies calmly. "I'm sure Sookie can come up with something for her."

"Lane must be in bed by 11:00. Do you understand my rules?"

"Yes, Mrs. Kim. Everything will be fine, I've got it all under control. Lane can come on over whenever she's ready." Lorelai says goodbye and hangs up the phone.

"Is she coming?" Rory asks.

"Yes, but I may need to hire an armed guard just for her," Lorelai replies.

* * *

Hours later, the party is in full swing. It's just over an hour till midnight so Lorelai ducks into the kitchen to check on Sookie and the food. "How can people eat so many jalapeno poppers?" Sookie wonders aloud when she sees her. "I swear we've gone through at least three for each and every person out there."

"I think Mrs. Finelli has eaten about half of them on her own," Lorelai replies.

Sookie gives a stir to the saucepan on the stove. "So how did Rory take the news?"

Lorelai gives a sad smile. "Rory is Rory," she replies. "She was disappointed, but she wasn't surprised. She's handling it and moving on."

Sookie raises an eyebrow. "And you?"

Now there's a question. The initial anger has started to ebb, and now she's starting to feel something niggling in the back of her mind; something new, unexpected and…almost _liberating_. "You know," she says slowly, trying to wrap her head around it all, "I never realized how much I've been biding my time, waiting for Christopher."

Sookie tosses a handful of ingredients into the pot and continues stirring. "Why?"

"I guess," Lorelai ponders, struggling to put it into words, "I guess deep down I thought he'd be ready some day, ready to be a real family man. And now I kind of feel like I've unloaded this huge weight since I spoke to him the other night. I've spent all this time blaming myself, feeling guilty for not giving Rory a real home or family to grow up with, because I was the one who didn't want to get married."

Sookie sets down the spoon and gives Lorelai a frown. "Lorelai, she _has_ a real home and a family."

"You know what I mean," Lorelai replies with a wave of her hand. "But I'm saying that now we've talked, and now he knows how much Rory misses him, and how much we'd like to see him more, and he _still_ chose not to follow through." Her shoulders slump with equal parts relaxation and defeat. "Maybe it's not fair to draw all these conclusions from one incident, but I still feel better. The ball's in his court now, it's all off my shoulders. Even it turns out that he really is sick, and next week he decides to turn into Father of the Year, it's still all up to him."

"I hope he does turn into Father of the Year," Sookie says with a warm smile. "That little girl deserves it."

"I hope so too," Lorelai says softly. Then she checks herself. "But I think it's about as likely as George Lucas getting a crew cut."

* * *

The girls are getting ready for bed the next time Lorelai goes to check on them. "OK," she says, businesslike, "now I promised Mrs. Kim that Lane would be in bed by 11:00, but that doesn't mean she has to be sleeping. Now Lane, you did your reading assignment?"

Lane nods. "First Corinthians, Chapters 9 & 10," she confirms. "Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord, and the cup of devils: ye cannot be partakers of the Lord's table, and of the table of devils."

She's all black hair and glasses and fuzzy flannel pajamas with pictures of rainbows on them, and Lorelai smiles fondly, brimming over with affection for this girl, her daughter's best friend. "Good," she nods, then turns to her daughter. "Rory, Sookie's making some fantastic looking ice cream sundaes, would you like one?"

Rory nods eagerly.

"OK," she says, speaking slowly so they can't possibly miss the unspoken message here. "Now we know that Lane isn't allowed to have ice cream, so let's just all be clear that if I bring two spoons with the sundae, it's just in case Rory drops one." Lorelai winks at Lane, who beams back at her.

Lorelai switches on the TV. "I'll be back in about fifteen minutes with the sundae, and I'll be checking on you periodically all night, so no playing with explosives or dissecting small animals. For now, I leave you in Dick Clark's capable hands."

"Happy New Year, Mom," Rory chimes in.

"Happy New Year, Lorelai," Lane adds.

"Happy New Year," Lorelai says back to both of them.

_tbc_

Next up: Menu planning for the wedding, Anna shows her true colors and Luke lets it all hang out.


	9. Chapter 9

January. Back to the grindstone. Holiday decorations and party festivities are a thing of the past and business as usual is the order of the day.

It's cold and gray outside, and a June wedding seems a lifetime away.

But a June wedding is precisely the matter under discussion right now. Lorelai is hosting a lunch meeting with Sookie, Anna and Luke to discuss their menu plans. They've brought April along with them; she's sitting in a high chair eating pieces of fruit and Cheerios, and occasionally throwing her sippy cup on the floor, just to make sure they don't all forget she's there.

Their lunches delivered, Lorelai starts working down the list of questions. "OK, let's start with the basics," she says, tapping a pen on her other hand. "Do you want sit-down service or buffet style?"

Anna and Luke offer up simultaneous – and contradictory – responses.

"Buffet," Luke says, while at the same time Anna says: "Sit-down."

She turns to Luke in dismayed surprise. "I thought we had decided this."

"We did decide." Luke nods. "We decided that people don't like being shackled to a table full of other people they didn't choose to sit with in the first place, and being given prearranged portions of food that they may or may not like."

Anna frowns. "But sit-down is just so much more elegant," she protests. "Do you want people to remember this as the wedding where they were free to mill about as they pleased," she rolls her eyes and makes a spinning gesture with her hands, "or the event where their every request was promptly catered to, leaving them with plenty of time to socialize with their neighbors and enjoy the ambiance of their surroundings?"

"Of course it's impossible to enjoy ambiance with a buffet table in the room," Luke says sarcastically.

"Luke…" Anna urges softly. She reaches out to give his hand a squeeze.

Luke sighs in resignation. "Fine," he concedes grudgingly. He turns to April and feeds her some more banana slices.

"You don't need to decide immediately," Lorelai interjects gently. "Why don't you discuss it some more and let me know? We would just need to know by the end of March so we can plan for staff." She makes some notes and gives a nod to Sookie.

Sookie pulls out a pen. "OK, what did you want to do for appetizers?" she asks. "I just made these amazing sausage balls yesterday, you've _got_ to try them."

"Or crab puffs," Lorelai interjects. "Sookie's are _unbelievable_. She's actually got crabs lining up _asking_ her to puff them."

Luke sets down April's spoon and turns to them. "Do you do fried calamari?"

Anna crinkles her nose. "Ugh, I hate calamari. Always feels like I'm chewing rubber. What if we went a little ethnic and did some spring rolls?"

Sookie bounces in her seat at the thought. "Ooh, and we could do a Thai chicken satay on skewers, and some fish cakes with cucumber sauce, and a tropical fruit salad…" she begins scribbling ideas down.

Luke doesn't look quite so excited at the prospect. "You know, not everybody likes Thai food," he says skeptically. "How about some mozzarella sticks or something like that?"

"Mozzarella sticks? Luke, this isn't a diner," Anna frowns.

_Strike three_. That's three of his suggestions she's shot down now, and Lorelai can actually see the muscles in Luke's jaw tense as he turns away to offer April some more banana.

Anna leans over to him. "Sorry," she says gently, squeezing his hand again. "That didn't come out right. I just meant that a wedding is a pretty fancy event, and mozzarella sticks don't really seem to fit in with that kind of feel. But if it's important to you we can have them."

"Mm-hm," Luke grunts in reply, and it's amazing how much he manages to convey with those two wordless syllables, with the way he remains turned away, his shoulders squared, his attention on April, who's starting to squirm in her high chair.

The tension is palpable, and entirely one-sided. Having apologized, Anna sips her iced tea, clearly putting the matter behind her.

Time to move on to a neutral subject. "One thing before I forget," Lorelai says. "Will there be any guests on special diets? Vegetarian, kosher, anything like that?"

Luke turns to her. "Yeah, actually, my sister…" he begins.

But Anna cuts him off. "Don't even go there," she says with a wave of her hand.

So much for the neutral subject. Lorelai looks questioningly back and forth between them. "Is it something we can help with?"

Anna rolls her eyes. "Luke's sister just started this ridiculous macrobiotic diet, it basically consists of barley and steamed vegetables. And now she's inflicting it on her kid too. I swear we should start a pool going as to how much weight Jess is going to lose before she caves and lets him eat a hamburger."

Lorelai glances over at Sookie, who looks horrified. "If you could give us some ideas," she offers, cutting Sookie off before she makes public her feelings about vegetarians.

"Don't worry about it," Anna assures them both. "She can't expect people to accommodate her bizarre diet everywhere she goes."

Luke straightens up from picking Cheerios off the floor. "We're paying them enough money to support a small guerrilla army," he disagrees. "They should at least be able to come up with a serving or two of rabbit food for Liz and Jess." April's squirming increases – she's straining against the strap that's holding her buckled into the high chair and it's clear that Luke's patience is also running short.

Still Anna persists. "Luke, This is _Liz_ we're talking about. You _know_ she'll be over and done with this whim of hers long before the wedding." She turns to Lorelai. "This is the same woman who borrowed $10,000 from her father to start a business making plastic wishbones. The business lasted a month, and Liz's boyfriend ended up making off with the money instead. She's a bit…well, _flighty_ would be putting it mildly."

"Anna," Luke growls.

"And Luke gets all protective of her," Anna says, patting his knee affectionately. "Even though he's the one who ends up bailing her out nine times out of ten, especially since their dad died." It's praise, except that it isn't really and Luke's frown indicates he's not taking it as such.

So Lorelai takes a stab. "That's very chivalrous," she observes.

"Just call me Lancelot," Luke comments wryly as he gets to his feet and starts cleaning April's face off. "She's not going to sit here much longer, I'm taking her outside." That's it; he's had enough.

"Wait," Lorelai urges, trying to salvage this. "Do you want me to watch her while you go over things with Sookie?"

Anna shakes her head. "She's actually pretty nervous around strangers." She reaches out a hand to Luke. "Luke, stay. We'll manage."

"You can deal with this on your own," Luke replies flatly. He grabs their coats, picks April up and heads for the door.

"Is everything OK?" Sookie asks, watching him leave.

Anna nods calmly. "He'll be fine," she replies. "Let's keep going."

Sookie seems satisfied; she launches back into menu planning. "OK, now what sort of salads did you have in mind?" she asks. "We could do a regular green salad, but if you wanted something more unique, I've got a bunch of ideas…"

But Lorelai's attention is still on the two vacated seats. "Excuse me for a moment," she says suddenly, getting to her feet. "I just need to check on the flower delivery for the Gallagher wedding this weekend."

* * *

Over the years that she's worked at the Inn, Lorelai has assisted with enough weddings that she's noticed a few trends and personality types for brides and grooms. Interestingly, she's come to realize that it's the _combination_ of the two personalities that determines the ease of handling the wedding. The mere existence of a Bridezilla doesn't necessarily spell doom for an affair; not if the groom is, for example, the passive "Yes Ma'am" sort of guy, willing to leave everything up to her.

Anna Nardini is an overachieving bride, to be sure – a professional, meticulous woman who tackles wedding planning like she's managing a corporate initiative. It's a personality type that Lorelai has seen quite a lot of, and it's a type that normally works best with one of two varieties of grooms: either another overachiever – if their tastes mesh – or a disinterested doormat.

Luke may be somewhat disinterested, but he's clearly not a doormat.

As a wedding planner, Lorelai has always regarded her role as that of negotiator, the one who keeps the peace. It's not her job to play relationship coach, to hash out the conflicts between bride and groom. It's sometimes occurred to her that many of the marriages she's helping bring to fruition aren't going to last, but it's not her job to play therapist; it's her role to get them to the altar by hook or by crook. What happens afterwards is up to them.

Only very seldom has it ever occurred to her to rethink that role. Today, though, questions are nagging in the back of her mind.

She tries to tell herself that maybe Anna and Luke are just having a bad day. All couples fight, after all. Or so she's heard – it's not like she has any personal experience in this arena.

Experience or not, she leaves Sookie and Anna to discuss the finer points of vinaigrettes, makes a quick phone call to the florist to ease her conscience and satisfy her pretext, and then grabs her coat and ducks out back of the Inn, where she finds Luke taking a walk with April around the grounds. It's warm for this time of year, but January is still January. They've had no snow so everything is brown; the grass, the bare trees. Still, the chill air is refreshing.

She sidles up to Luke as he's extracting an acorn from his daughter's mouth. "About six more months," she informs him by way of announcing her presence.

He looks up in surprise. "What?"

Lorelai motions towards April. "You've only got about 6 more months of the whole putting-everything-in-their-mouths stage and then it's on to the 'I wanna do it' stage. She'll start insisting on doing everything on her own, trying to help you with stuff, only it'll take you twice as long to get it done if you let her."

Luke gives a grunt in reply and sets April down on her feet. His expression is blank – not angry, frustrated, or even relieved to be outside and away from the scene indoors, and for a sickening moment Lorelai wonders if she'd best keep quiet. But then she remembers the sight of his cold, silent ire and she decides to forge ahead.

Besides, keeping quiet just isn't what she does. "So – wow," she begins. "I thought I was going to have to get you a towel for that bloody tongue of yours."

"What?" he looks up at her with a squinty kind of are-you-insane face.

"Bloody tongue?" she repeats. "From biting it so much?"

Another grunt.

He's not denying it, at least. "It just seems to me like…well, I don't know you that well but it doesn't seem like you to take that from her. You don't strike me as an invertebrate."

He raises a questioning eyebrow at her. Glances over to check on April, who's plopped herself down and is happily pulling up handfuls of grass.

"Invertebrate," she explains. "Sometimes a euphemism for 'spineless." It's blunt, but so is he. She's pretty sure he can take it.

His eyes shoot daggers at her in a flash of cold blue, and then he shuts down. He looks away with a restraint that's obvious in every tensed muscle, every tight breath he draws in. Then he relaxes a bit and gives a shrug, picks up a stone and skips it across the surface of the pond that the warm January weather is obstinately refusing to turn to ice.

What does she have to do to get more than a monosyllable from him? She tries again, this time with a direct question. "I know I'm getting in way over my head by asking this, but why do you let her?"

That does it. In less than a moment, he's in her face in a full rant complete with hands gesticulating wildly. "Why do I let her?" he echoes angrily. "Let's see, why do I let her? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the one time I brought up the subject of how controlling she is, we ended up breaking up? And maybe because of the fact that she almost didn't even bother to tell me about the pregnancy? She was going to leave me out of it entirely? And when she finally _did_ decide to tell me, she was already seven months along?" He shakes his head and looks away. "I don't know, maybe it's got something to do with that."

_Wow_. From zero to explosion in two seconds flat. Lorelai frowns. "She told me she didn't think you would've wanted to be involved," she says. Though really – that's hardly something you can just assume about anybody. _Seven months_? She really waited that long?

He picks up another stone and whips it across the water's surface. "What the hell kind of guy doesn't want to be involved with their kid?" he demands. "She didn't _want_ me involved. _She_ wanted to run the show."

April chooses that moment to take off running down an incline. She loses her balance, tumbles down and erupts into tears. Luke runs over to pick up and comfort his crying daughter. He rubs her bumped knee until she calms down, then puts her down again.

Lorelai slowly catches up, her hands pushed down in her pockets. "You should've been a mailman," she informs him.

The squinty-frown again as he looks up at her. "What?"

"You're in the wrong line of work," she clarifies. "With all that baggage you're carrying around, you'd be a natural." She gives a sigh. "Luke, you need to talk to her. Is this really how you want your marriage to be for the rest of your life?"

"We'll be fine," he assures her. "I'm just blowing off some steam. It's no big deal."

"Luke," she gestures toward him insistently. "You sound more like a soldier going off to war than someone who's about to get married to the love of his life."

His forehead is creased, his eyes are intent and thoughtful; there's clearly a response brewing but before it's fully formed, April runs off again towards the pond. Luke chases after her and manages to hold her back before she discovers just how cold the water is.

Lorelai follows them. April is now throwing handfuls of stones into the water; Luke is busy trying to make sure she doesn't end up drenching herself in the process. Everything about him – his silence, the way his eyes travel up and around and everywhere except to meet hers – indicates he's got something more to say.

So she waits.

Finally he speaks. "She needs a father."

Lorelai frowns. "Are you some sort of mirage that disappears after sundown? Because it looks to me like she _has_ a father."

He nods slowly. "She does _now_."

Is he really saying what she thinks he's saying? "Are you seriously telling me you're only marrying Anna because of April?"

Luke winces and looks down at the ground. "There are other reasons," he says, his voice wavering doubtfully.

_He_ doesn't even believe what he's saying, and Lorelai can hardly believe what she's hearing. It's 1994 and he thinks that just because he got a girl pregnant he automatically has to marry her?

Then she makes the connection and her stomach does a flip-flop. "Man, you and Christopher both," she observes with more than a little incredulous cynicism. "You'd make quite a pair."

He looks up questioningly. "Who?"

"Christopher. Rory's father."

His eyes narrow. "You're comparing me to _him_?" he demands.

She nods firmly. "Tweedledum & Tweedledee. Butch & Sundance. Bert & Ernie."

The crease in his forehead deepens, his eyes glare at her, full of blue indignation. "You're comparing me to some guy who walked out on his kid?"

Undaunted, she nods again. "I'm comparing you to some guy who _was_ going to marry me when he found out about the pregnancy, despite the fact that it would've led to a disaster at least 8.7 on the Richter scale." He's rolling his eyes but Lorelai presses on, determined. "_And_ I'm comparing you to some guy who can't seem to see any option other than 'all in' or zero presence. Marriage, or Robert DeNiro in _Awakenings_."

The ire dissipates, leaving him staring at her, wide-eyed and quizzical.

"There's got to be a third option," she gestures forcefully with a fist. "Luke, you're the only one who really knows how you feel about Anna, but if you don't love her, you're really not doing your daughter any favors by marrying her."

Luke goes after April, who's started pulling flowers out of a flower patch, and does not reply.

_tbc_


	10. Chapter 10

MAY 1994 – SOME MONTHS LATER

It's been a particularly aggravating morning, despite the sunny spring-like May conditions outdoors, and Lorelai needs to vent to a friend. On the list of annoyances today: Michel is being even more petulant than usual, she's had to deal with a sick maid, and a price spike in beef that will have to be passed along to at least seven unhappy customers who are hosting events at the Inn.

Plus she had a conversation with Anna Nardini this morning that was just slightly less fun than being trapped in a room with Emily Gilmore for the afternoon. It all had to do with the music selections at the reception; Anna is actually beginning to rival her mother with her exacting attention to detail. (_Insane perfectionism_, as Lorelai prefers to think of it.)

She thinks back to that girls' night out with Sookie and Anna. Nowadays it's a little surprising that she ever thought she and Anna could be friends. Maybe it's just the nature of their customer-patron relationship, but these past few months spent working with her have left Lorelai feeling like the two of them are truly from different worlds.

But right now, it's Michel who's annoying her the most. She enters the kitchen and lets loose her gripe, not even stopping to see whether Sookie is there to receive it. "Oh, my God," she explodes, "if Michel can't just suck it up and risk those perfectly-manicured hands of his by carrying a single box of cleaning supplies upstairs, I think I'm going to have to lock his skinny butt in a box and ship him back to France on a raft."

She looks around the kitchen in search of Sookie and instead finds David there, stirring something that looks like lamb chops in a frying pan. "Oh, sorry, David," she apologizes. "I was looking for Sookie."

David indicates a knife sitting on a nearby cutting board. "She went in search of some Band-aids."

No further explanation is necessary. "Oh," she says with a nod. "Well if you see her, can you tell her I'm going to lunch? I'll be back in about an hour."

She turns to leave but David stops her with a question. "How come you never steal my food any more?"

She spins back. "What?"

"You're going out to lunch again today," he says accusingly, like a parent scolding a wayward teenager. "You're not swiping my food. You used to help yourself to muffins, croissants, sandwiches, I used to find dirty pie-plates behind the front desk all the time, and I swear our profit ratio on coffee has increased measurably."

He's wrong about the coffee at any rate. She's still drinking from the pot in the kitchen, but now she refills it when she finishes it, which is nearly every day. Apparently that's been quite effective in throwing him off the scent.

Just then the door opens and Michel and Sookie enter, Sookie's left hand wrapped liberally with bandages. "You yelled at me constantly for taking food," Lorelai replies, and why in the world is she balking at this ridiculous complaint? "I'm failing to see the problem here," she adds.

Michel opens the fridge and retrieves a lunch box, no doubt containing a dry salad and very little else. "Like all mediocre chefs," he comments, "David is sensitive to the point of hysteria whenever anyone appears to lose a taste for his cooking."

David raises an eyebrow. "You're calling _me _'sensitive to the point of hysteria'? May I remind you of a certain stray-nose-hair incident last week?"

Lorelai sees Sookie studying her thoughtfully. "She _has_ been eating here less," Sookie observes.

_Unbelievable_. They complain that she's taking food and now they're complaining that she's stopped? She throws up her hands helplessly. "I was threatened with having my pay docked." As if to appease them, she leans over the table and helps herself to a cookie.

David seems satisfied with this explanation and goes back to his lamb chops. Sookie, however, isn't quite so easy. As Lorelai makes her exit out into the lobby, she follows, hopping along like an eager dog wanting a treat. Or maybe just a friend wanting some good gossip. But she's not going to get either one. "So you're going out for lunch?" Sookie probes.

Lorelai opens her organizer and rifles through, giving the intentional appearance of nonchalance. "Yeah, do you want to come?" she offers.

"Oh, no, thanks." Sookie shakes her head. "I've got some quiches in the oven that need attention." She taps her fingers on the desk. "You've been eating out a lot lately, haven't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," Lorelai replies noncommittally. She flips some more pages.

"Did Mia give you a raise or something?"

Why are her eating habits of such interest to these people? She stands up stiff and tall, making a deliberate gesture of it. "Officer, I assure you I was nowhere near the premises at the time of the crime, nor did I have any contact with the victim."

"Lorelai," Sookie protests, "I'm just curious. The whole time I've known you, you've been saving every spare penny you could get your hands on, but now suddenly you're eating out every day? Where are you getting all this money?"

"It's not _that_ much money," Lorelai objects. "My dad gave me a big fat Christmas check, and besides, David was about to have me thrown in a Guatemalan drug-lord prison if I kept raiding the kitchen." OK, so maybe she hasn't been able to save much recently, but what's wrong with treating herself a little? It's not like she does it all the time.

"Never stopped you before," Sookie mutters. Then, apparently done with her interrogation, she turns and heads back to the kitchen.

* * *

Lorelai steps inside the diner to the familiar sound of Luke ranting at a customer. "…did not order a cheeseburger, if you had ordered a cheeseburger you would've gotten a cheeseburger. What you order is what you get. Seems like a pretty simple concept, but people just can't seem to grasp it."

She finds her way over to the counter and sits down without a word, as Luke finishes his rant and stalks over to the doorway leading upstairs. He pauses to kick at a French fry on the floor. "And if you drop something, _pick it up_," he growls at nobody in particular. "Bunch of pigs, nobody treats their homes this way, but come here and anything is fair game." He disappears upstairs without turning around.

Lorelai waves hello to Miss Patty and Babette, who are lunching together at a nearby table, and Kirk who is eating alone at the next table over.

Caesar emerges from the kitchen, pad and pen poised in his hands. "Ready to order?" he asks.

"Coffee, burger, fries," Lorelai rattles off. "So what's his problem today?" She nods toward the doorway where Luke disappeared.

Caesar rolls his eyes. "I can't take much more of this from him. Is your place hiring any cooks?"

"You're not jumping ship, are you Caesar?" Babette's shrill gravelly voice sounds from behind them.

"Boss getting to be too much for you?" Miss Patty adds.

Caesar shrugs helplessly. "He actually docked my pay yesterday because some customer sent their tuna sandwich back," he complains. "And he's getting so nasty to the customers, I'm not getting any tips."

"Troubles at home with Nessarose?" Miss Patty asks hopefully.

"He slept here again last night," Caesar informs them. "Some lame excuse about breaking in a new bread delivery guy."

"That's three times this week," Babette observes.

"How on Earth did I miss all this?" Lorelai wonders. "I've been here every day this week." She swivels back and forth on her stool, suddenly feeling antsy.

"Oh, sugar, it's been a busy couple of days," Babette explains. "Yesterday all we could talk about was the Deslondes divorce. And Tuesday, Tracey Wasserman's breast implants were the big news."

"Do you know if they've tried couples therapy?" Kirk asks. "I'm fully certified as a Mars/Venus Relationship coach."

Lorelai frowns. "I really can't see Luke going to couples therapy."

"Classic example of Cognitive Dissonance disorder," Kirk explains.

Luke suddenly reappears in the doorway. Before anyone even has a chance to hush up their conversation and pretend they're not talking about him, Luke is bellowing away at Caesar, "Caesar, did you refill the damn ketchup dispensers like I've been asking you to do for three days now?"

He takes no notice of any of his customers until he pauses, mid-rant, his eyes traveling around the perimeter of the room, cold and laser-focused almost as if he's searching for more fodder to grouse about. Then he catches sight of Lorelai and all further ranting dissipates. It's uncanny, the way his whole stiff body relaxes, his eyes clear up and focus as if he's just remembered that he's in a public place.

He makes his way over behind the counter and now he's normal, sarcastic and easygoing Luke again. "Hey," he greets her.

She grabs a salt shaker and slides it back and forth between her hands. "Hey," she replies. "I see you've got the power-hungry despot routine down pat."

"Eh." He shrugs.

She smiles sweetly up at him. "So I have a suggestion to make."

"I am _not_ putting in individual jukeboxes at every table."

She shakes her head. "No, I'm giving up on that idea."

He raises a suspicious eyebrow. "So is this suggestion personal or professional?"

"Well," she replies thoughtfully, "It was going to be professional, but now that you mention it, have you ever tried transcendental meditation? It might help with that stress level of yours."

"I'll see what I can do," Luke replies, seeing her sarcasm and raising her one. "So what's the suggestion?"

She stops playing with the salt shaker and folds her hands, businesslike. "Well at first I was thinking that you should get a Mariachi band to play here, but I'm guessing you won't like that any more than the jukeboxes."

He narrows his eyes and looks at her sideways. "Liking it _less_ than the jukeboxes," he replies. "At the moment, the jukeboxes are sounding like a great idea."

"Really?"

"No. What's the damn suggestion?"

She draws in a deep breath as if to build suspense and then makes the announcement. "Mexican food. Burritos. Tacos. Nachos."

He's unimpressed. "How about I just go with Cheerios and Spaghetti-O's?"

"I'm telling you, they'd be hot sellers." She gesticulates at him insistently.

He picks up a rag and starts wiping down the counter, but his silence, surprisingly, suggests that he may actually be considering it. But, "maybe" is all he's willing to concede before he changes the subject. "So how'd the retirement party come off last night?"

She shrugs. "Oh, it was fine. Well, other than the Mr. McNair-spinach dip debacle."

"Excuse me?" He tosses the rag under the counter and looks up at her.

She swivels back and forth on her stool. "Well, remember last night was pretty warm, so I was wearing my pink dress with the short sleeves."

"With the purple flowers," Luke nods.

He's noticed her dresses? "Yeah, that's the one," she confirms with an embarrassed half-laugh. "So then Mr. McNair," she continues, "who is apparently a reformed alcoholic, so he can't even use alcohol as an excuse, well he comes barreling around the corner, not looking where he's going, and spills his plate of spinach dip all over the front of my dress."

"Probably the closest you've been to any vegetables this year," Luke notes wryly.

She ignores him. "So then he's all apologies, grabbing a bunch of napkins and a glass of seltzer to get the stain out, and the next thing I know, he's practically _feeling _me_ up_. I seriously think he did the whole thing _on purpose_." She sighs and rolls her eyes. "I swear, I don't think I've worked a single event in the past three months where the host, or the host's husband, or their nephew, or their _daughter_, or their daughter's best friend's sister's mailman wasn't coming on to me."

Luke shrugs. "Well," he says, looking at her expectantly, like the rest of that sentence is so obvious it doesn't even need saying.

It does. "Well what?" she demands.

He flushes then; he flushes quite red in fact (_redder than Khrushchev with a sunburn_, she thinks to herself) and looks down at the floor. "Well…you know," he mutters. Piercing eyes glance up sideways at her and then down again.

She thumps a fist on the counter. "No, I don't know," she insists, "and if you don't let me in on the secret I'm going to pummel you with pickles until my world-famous perseverance wears you down and you wind up in a ball on the floor, crying like a girl."

He gives a deep sigh and his shoulders sag in defeat. "You're not entirely hideous to look at, that's all," he finally says grudgingly. He looks at her directly now in utter annoyance that she's forced a compliment out of him.

And such a compliment! She feels a grin spread across her face as she gasps playfully. "Not entirely hideous?" she echoes. "Oh, such flattery! _Not entirely hideous_. Wow, so I guess that puts me a step above Medusa but perhaps not quite on par with Janet Reno?"

He's trying to look annoyed, but the corners of his mouth tug upward. "Your sense of humor, on the other hand, ranks down there with Henry Kissinger," he replies snidely.

She bats her eyelashes at him. "Oh, but with a 'not entirely hideous' face like this, I am _so_ worth it."

He taps his fingers on the counter. "So are you guys going to be around this weekend?" Time to change the subject, it would seem.

Now it's her turn to flush. It's a reaction that happens automatically, before she can think rationally and remember that of course he's only… "Uh…yeah…we'll be around," she stammers.

He turns and picks up the coffee pot, grabs a cup and fills it for her. "Bring Rory by," he instructs. "I found my mother's antique china doll that I was telling her about. She might like to see it."

She frowns. "I have no memory of this conversation," she says, puzzled. "When were you talking about china dolls with Rory?"

The coffee pot now empty, he fills it with water and starts making a fresh pot. "Saturday when you guys were here," he explains over his shoulder. "You were busy with Babette and Miss Patty, reveling in the misfortunes of others at the time."

"Oh." She reaches for the salt shaker and starts sliding it from hand to hand again. "Yeah," she confirms, "we can probably come by." Then she smiles devilishly. "So is Rory 'not entirely hideous' too? Or does she qualify as 'remotely tolerable?'"

"She may even be vaguely unobjectionable, especially next to you," Luke replies.

Just then Caesar's head pokes out from the kitchen doorway. "Hey, Luke, do we have any more mayonnaise?"

Luke nods. "Yeah, hang on a sec." He gives Lorelai a nod and heads back to the storeroom.

Left alone, Lorelai retrieves her organizer from her handbag and begins reviewing her to-do list for the remainder of the day while she waits for her food to be delivered. The Eddington wedding is next week and she's just remembered that she needs to tell Sookie to prepare two kosher meals.

And that's when Miss Patty's voice interrupts her thoughts. "Well, well, well, suddenly everything becomes clear."

Lorelai swivels her stool around to look at the other woman, who's gazing at her intently with what can only be described as a 'shit-eating grin' on her face. "What?" she asks.

Babette taps a hand on Miss Patty's arm. "Did you see how he brightened right up when he saw her?"

Kirk rubs a napkin over a ketchup stain on his shirt. "Lorelai, you _might_ try to show at least a _little_ professional courtesy by not _flirting_ with my client before he's even begun therapy," he says irritably.

Are they serious? "Oh, stop," she admonishes them. "We were just having some fun, we weren't flirting."

"Oh, honey," Miss Patty flaps a wrist at her. "I've flirted with more men than you'll ever even meet. I know flirting when I see it, and _that_, my dear, was _definitely_ flirting."

"Nobody blames you, sugar," Babette chimes in. "Luke is one prime hunk of beef."

She feels herself flush. "But I'm not – I mean, he's a customer. I wouldn't…"

"Of course not, dear," Miss Patty says patronizingly.

She's saved from any further debate on the matter when Caesar emerges from the kitchen with her lunch and places it down in front of her. "Um," she interjects before he can disappear back into the kitchen, "Can I get that to go?"

* * *

Her bagged lunch in hand, she exits the diner a few minutes later, as surreptitiously as she can, which isn't very. She feels like Hester Prynne. Gennifer Flowers. Like she's just been emblazoned with the word FLIRT in big red letters across her forehead.

She gets in her car and guns the engine, anxious to get away from this place as quickly as possible. She shakes her head, trying to shake off the ridiculous implications as if they're a bug buzzing in her ear.

But really – why is this bothering her so much? It's hardly the first time she's been accused of flirting; honestly it's practically a second language for her and it doesn't mean anything. Not really.

_Does it_? An opposing voice sounds in her head and she suddenly feels like she's in one of those old TV shows where the character is shown with an angel and a devil above their head, debating the matter at hand. Except in this case, the voice of the devil sounds suspiciously like that of Emily Gilmore.

No, she insists – to herself, to the devil, to Emily, whoever – Luke is just a friend.

_Really_? comes the skeptical Emily-voice. _So then you must talk about the things that friends normally talk about. His wedding plans, his relationship with Anna, the dates you've been on with other men?_

Well, no, she's forced to admit. Not really. He opened up to her that one time about his relationship, but he's actually been pretty tight-lipped ever since then. And she hasn't told him about any of her dates – not that there have been tons of them, but she just didn't think he'd be interested.

_But you're friends with both of them and they're doing well together?_

Well, Anna seems content enough when the subject has been broached, but that's not often. Professional interactions only; she and Anna really are not friends.

_But Luke is._

Yes. He's a friend. OK, a friend who's not entirely hideous to look at, maybe, and perhaps she enjoys flirting with him a bit.

A friend who she _really_ looks forward to seeing every day at lunchtime…

_But it makes no difference to you whether or not he stays with Anna?_

Well…

That's when her stomach gives a lurch, because now she remembers. She knows for sure what that feeling was; that spark in her gut when she heard Miss Patty and Babette speculating that things may be falling apart between Luke and Anna.

Oh, God.

She grips the steering wheel tightly and turns to take the long way back to the Inn. She needs to clear her head. She needs to get away from here, from _him_.

This cannot continue.

_t__bc_


	11. Chapter 11

Snippets of dialog in this chapter have been deliberately borrowed from the episode "That Damn Donna Reed."

* * *

It's a lovely, warm Friday night at the Inn. Caitlin Kessler's sweet-sixteen party has wound down and Lorelai and Sookie are supervising the cleanup effort. The party was held outdoors on the grounds behind the Inn and the weather couldn't have been better for it.

Lorelai is busy directing the staff as they fold up the tables and chairs and clear everything out of the party tent. She looks over at Sookie who's busy consolidating the leftover hors d'oeuvres onto a tray to be brought inside. "So that went off pretty well," she muses. "The guest of honor smiled and blushed at all the right moments, except maybe when her father caught her making out with her boyfriend behind the servers' station."

Sookie giggles. "The staff were so afraid to interrupt them that Mr. Feltenstein had to wait ten minutes to get a clean fork."

"Did you see Caitlin's father and his wife? I swear she was younger than _us_, she's obviously not her mother," Lorelai comments.

"Twenty-four," Sookie confirms. "I asked the uncle."

Lorelai smirks. "Can you say 'trophy wife?' She packs away the drinks pretty good, too. I know she would've had me under the table. Good thing her husband can afford an expensive rehab place for her." She helps herself to a canapé.

"That D.J. wasn't bad-looking, though," Sookie giggles and nudges Lorelai with her elbow.

Lorelai shrugs. "I guess."

"Floppy blond hair, stubble, thin, muscular body." She looks expectantly at Lorelai and then she winks. She actually _winks_.

Lorelai gasps. "When was Brad Pitt here? I didn't get to see him." Trying to change the subject, or at least divert it away. It probably won't work.

It doesn't. "Come on, Lorelai, I saw you talking to him," Sookie implores. "Did you give him your number?"

Lorelai throws up her hands in exasperation. "God, can't a girl _ever_ have a conversation with a guy these days without being accused of flirting?"

It comes out of her mouth shrilly, with much more rancor than intended, and Sookie looks stricken. With wide eyes, she pivots away from Lorelai and wordlessly goes back to her work of clearing up the leftover food.

Lorelai sighs. "I have to get these lights down." She finds a stepladder, sets it up and climbs up to begin taking down the strings of lights that are still glittering around the perimeter of the party tent.

And that's how things stay between them for some minutes. Lorelai plods away at winding up strand after strand of lights, but she soon finds that the warm lights, the lovely nighttime setting, and most importantly Sookie's silence that's punishing for the very reason that it's not intended to be, warm her up into full contrition. "Sorry," she says finally, quietly. "I'm an idiot. You are hereby permitted to administer floggings at 0800 tomorrow."

Sookie looks up quizzically. "What's been up with you lately, anyway?"

Sometimes, just sometimes, having a best friend who knows her this well can get a little trying. "Well, I'm not supposed to tell you," she replies, making her umpteenth attempt at dodging the question, "but I'm part of a psychology study being done by Johns Hopkins University to see how much bitchiness a chef can take before she starts gouging eyes out with a melon baller."

Sookie ignores her words, studying her closely as she drums her fingers on the table. "No, there's definitely something bugging you." Then she gives an excited gasp and waves her hands furiously in Lorelai's direction. "Oh my God, it's a guy, isn't it? Tell me it's a guy."

"It is not a guy," Lorelai lies.

But Sookie isn't buying it. "You've been moping around here for a week, you won't tell me why, and I know you're not PMS'ing. What else could it be?"

Any number of things, really, except that it isn't. And Lorelai _really_ doesn't want to talk about it. So far she's managed to control herself and not freak out over this, and she wants to keep it that way. "Why does it have to be a guy?" she demands. "I have better things to do with my life than to get all upset over a guy. I have a job, I have a life, I have a kid that I have to make sure is fully versed in all Cary Grant movies before she turns twelve."

Sookie holds up her hands in a defeated shrug. "OK, OK, it's not a guy."

They go back to work in silence, the only sounds those of the staff as they move about the area folding tables and chairs, picking up trash, sweeping the floor. Sookie finishes consolidating leftover hors d'oeuvres onto a tray and picks it up to bring it inside.

She pauses next to Lorelai's stepladder and looks up at her, one eyebrow raised. "It _is_ a guy, though, isn't it?" she asks, digging the probe in deeper. "Who is he?"

"Leif Garrett," Lorelai shoots back. "I've had a thing for him since I was twelve, just can't shake it."

"Lorelai," Sookie chides. "Wow, whoever he is, you must _really_ like him."

Clearly she's not going to give up, and Lorelai knows she means well. She gives a defeated sigh. "I don't know if I really like him," she confesses finally. "And there's no point in even talking about it since I'm never going to find out. He's taken."

Sookie bobs her head about gleefully. "Well, you never know," she says, motioning towards her with her elbow in a nudging sort of gesture. "People break up all the time…"

Lorelai shakes her head and turns back up to the lights she's taking down. "They have a kid together," she says flatly.

Sookie's face falls precipitously, like a bowling ball off a cliff. Even out of the corner of her eye, Lorelai sees it so clearly. "Oh."

"Oh," Lorelai echoes, swallowing hard. "I have no interest in being a homewrecker, so I'm going cold turkey and not seeing him any more."

Sookie is looking up at her pityingly and Lorelai is thankful that she's up on the stepladder or else she knows Sookie would be trying to give her a hug. It's something she just can't take right now. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry," she says sympathetically. "But if it helps at all, I think you're doing the right thing,"

"That's my mantra," Lorelai replies. "Just call me Spike Lee."

* * *

A half hour later, all the food has been cleared, and Sookie has gone back into the Inn to finish cleaning up in there. The D.J. has finished packing up the sound equipment and Lorelai has just returned to taking down the lights when she spots a figure walking towards her from the Inn.

_Luke_.

Her heart pounding, she climbs down from the stepladder to greet him.

"Hey," he says. It's hard to read his expression in the dark; she thinks there's a flash of piercing blue asking unformed questions, but then it's gone and he's all flannel and nonchalance again.

"Hey," she replies. Her voice sounds a bit breathy, which is better than shaky, she supposes.

He rubs a hand on his cheek. "I just finished closing up the diner," he explains, "and Anna asked me to drop this off. I was going to leave it at the front desk but they said you were back here." He tugs at the brim of his cap behind his head, looks at her and away again, and something does seem a little off with him; he's not quite uncomfortable, but he does seem unsure about something. Lorelai wonders if the town gossip has reached his ears.

Despite his words, he gives no indication of what 'this' is that he claims to be dropping off. Lorelai gestures expectantly.

"Oh, the seating chart," he says. He reaches around into his back pocket, retrieves a piece of paper and hands it to her.

"Oh, thanks," Lorelai replies. "We can get some nice place cards made up now." She unfolds it and makes a show of looking it over, though her brain hardly registers anything on it. Yet she keeps her face buried in that paper because it's less uncomfortable than looking at him, especially since he's still silent and the silence is growing, morphing into a mountain of awkwardness.

Inwardly she's aghast that this is what she's been reduced to. Normally she's never lost for words; who is this man who's done this to her?

Finally, thankfully, Luke speaks. "So I haven't seen you at the diner in a while."

The attempt at casual conversation is a relief, except that she can't exactly give him an honest answer without making things awkward again. "Oh, yeah," Lorelai replies vaguely. "I've just been really busy lately. _Insanely_ busy. My right and left brains are learning to function independently. I'm thinking of having a catheter permanently installed so I don't have to take time out for bathroom breaks." She gives a laugh. It sounds nervous, even to herself.

Luke nods and extends his arm to her and that's when she sees that he's carrying a paper bag. "Well, anyway, I thought you might like this, and since you haven't been by I just figured I'd bring it over. I was going to tell the guy at the front desk to stick it in the fridge for you, but since you're here…"

Lorelai feels herself flush bright red and she's silently thankful for the dim moonlight. "What is it?" She opens the bag and peers in.

"The first official Luke's Diner burritos."

She feels a smile spread across her face and right there, the tension is broken. "You actually _took_ my suggestion?" she asks in surprise.

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, it wasn't quite as crazy as some of your other ideas, and I ran it by a few other customers and they seemed to like it, so…" He trails off. Pokes at a stone on the ground with his toe. "Anyway, I thought you'd like to do a taste test, so here they are."

"Thanks." She gives a sniff. It smells delicious.

He gestures vaguely at it. "Yeah, so there's some sour cream and salsa in there if you want it, so you can just try them out and let me know what you think." He steps back and turns to leave.

"Oh, no you don't," she hears herself blurt out.

He stops and turns back to face her, slowly, almost cautiously.

She points a finger at him emphatically. "I am _not_ eating these alone, like some pathetic jilted prom date, and I am _definitely_ not letting them sit all night to get soggy. Have a seat," she orders, indicating one of the tables that hasn't been broken down yet. "I'll be right back." A niggling voice whispers in the back of her mind but it's too late now; she's committed.

He raises a suspicious eyebrow, but he also grins and does as he's told.

Lorelai retrieves some dishes and cutlery from the servers' station, returns and sets the table in front of him. "OK, just one more thing we need."

"I'm not wearing a sombrero," he deadpans, though really, for her, the idea isn't so far-fetched. Now she wishes she'd thought of it first.

"Oh, we'll get you in one eventually," she assures him, "but one step at a time. Right now I just meant that we need something to drink." She give him a devilish smile. "I think we have some leftover margaritas from the party. You can't have burritos without them."

"You're going to have to at the diner," he informs her, as he opens the bag and begins unwrapping the food onto the plates. "I don't have a liquor license."

"Hey about that," Lorelai says, "Can I make a suggestion?"

He rolls his eyes.

* * *

Lorelai licks sour cream off her fingers as she polishes off her last bite of burrito. "OK, I think I can officially give these my highly-revered and sought-after blessing," she says approvingly. "And I hope you'll be sure to consult with me on all menu changes in the future."

"Don't count on being consulted very often," he replies between swallows of his drink. "This is the first time I've ever changed it."

She feels her eyes widen. "You've _never_ changed it before? How long have you had the diner?"

"Five years," he says, helping himself to a tortilla chip. "Since my dad died."

"How come you opened a diner, anyway? Why didn't you keep it a hardware store?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, I didn't love the hardware business the way my dad did, and you know, I knew how to cook, so I just thought a diner would be more…fun." He gestures aimlessly with a hand as he says it, like that's not quite the right word but he can't think of anything better.

"That's a hard word for you to say," Lorelai laughs.

He chuckles along with her. Meets her gaze with a warmth that she feels down to her toes. "Yeah, I just always wanted to work there, just where Dad did."

"What about your mom?" she asks, swallowing the last bit of the drink in her cup. She takes the pitcher, pours herself some more and tops off Luke's drink as well.

"She died when I was a kid." He says it matter-of-factly, but also a little quietly. It happened years ago; it's hardly news but still she senses he doesn't discuss the subject often.

"That must be so hard," she says softly. "How old were you?"

"Eight."

"Do you remember her?"

He picks up a spoon and pokes it into the sour cream. "Just bits & pieces. There was this one time," he sits forward and gives a laugh, "I had gotten into trouble at school, I don't remember what I did, but whatever it was, I was hoping she wouldn't find out. But then I got home and she already knew; obviously my teacher or somebody must've called her, but at the time I had no idea how she could've found out. So I asked her how she knew, and she told me she had a crystal ball."

Lorelai smiles. "Mom sees all."

"I spent the rest of that day tearing the house apart, looking for that crystal ball." He chuckles at the memory, cherished from so long ago, but when he meets her gaze his eyes aren't clouded over, caught in the past; they're clear and focused on the here and now. On _her_.

Lorelai's heart thumps in her chest. "It must've been hard on your dad, losing her."

"Yeah, he took it pretty hard." Luke takes a sip of his drink, sets down the glass and leans back, his hands folded behind his head. "He never slept in their bed again. It was the couch from that day on. He didn't like to talk about her much either. The only time, really, was every St. Patrick's Day. Every year we would get together to watch _The Quiet Man_. You know it?"

Lorelai nods. "Oh, yeah. John Wayne gets in touch with his feminine side after accidentally killing a man, and Maureen O'Hara won't have him for a husband until he's willing to pummel her brother."

He gives a wry grin at her description. "That's the one," he confirms. "Dad always said that Mom looked like Maureen O'Hara."

"She must've been beautiful," she says gently. "It sounds like they really loved each other."

"Yeah," Luke replies with a sigh. "We should all be so lucky."

"You still miss them." It's more of an observation than a question, but Luke nods. "God, that's nice," she says, a little mournfully, shaking her head. It's been five months since she last spoke with her parents and honestly, she doesn't miss them a bit. It's a different situation, of course, but still. "I mean, not the fact that they're gone," she clarifies, "but to be so…I don't know – connected. I would've loved that."

"Well you've got that with Rory," he says with a nod.

"I guess so," she agrees hopefully. Rory is only nine, after all. They get along now, but there's no telling how things will pan out when she hits the teenage years and beyond.

A gentle splash sounds from a frog over in the pond, waking Lorelai up to the fact that all other activity around them has ceased. All the food and dishes from the party have been cleared and the tables broken down except for the one they're sitting at. Everyone else has gone, and everything around them has become so quiet that they can hear the crickets chirping.

They're left sitting by themselves under the party tent, surrounded by thousands of sparkling lights that cast a glow over one side of Luke's face, illuminating it delicately, leaving the other side hidden in the clean, cool darkness. They're both quiet as they sip their drinks and it's a comfortable silence, full and peaceful between them.

She sets down her drink, looks up and finds his gaze on her, casually, not with any great intensity, but still focused like a camera, or maybe a window, except that she's the one looking in from the outside, her face pressed up against the glass, peering into a place of warmth and wonder.

And that's when she remembers who he is and who she is and how she's supposed to be avoiding him because…

She gets to her feet abruptly. "Sorry," she says, her voice just a little brusque. "I need to get these lights down." She's not asking him to leave – that would be rude and odd, at this point, and really, she doesn't want him to, but at least this will put some distance between them. She climbs back up onto the stepladder and starts winding up strands of lights again, pondering as she works.

Finally, she breaks the silence. "You know, you're right. Rory really is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't just mean that in the way that every mother means it. If it hadn't been for her, I never would've had the courage to leave the whole Stepford life I grew up in. I was facing the prospect of raising her in that guilt-ridden world of my parents', where everything is based on obligation and any real feelings are to be suppressed and hidden. I just couldn't do it. I had to get out."

"Took a lot of guts," he comments with what can only be described as admiration.

Undeserved admiration, perhaps. "Try _desperation_," she corrects. "And now we're living paycheck to paycheck, I'm scrimping every penny I can get my hands on, hoping that we can buy a house…someday before I'm eighty, but sometimes I think I've got a better shot at an Olympic Gold in Luge." She yanks at a stubborn wire and gets rewarded with a faceful of lights. "I don't know if it's ever going to happen," she sputters in frustration.

"It'll happen."

He says it with such certainty that she looks down at him from the top of the stepladder, surprised, and just for a moment when she meets his gaze, she believes him absolutely. It's like she's seeing herself through his eyes and suddenly she feels that that there's nothing she can't do if she tries. "How do you know?" she asks.

"I know."

Still clutching a jumble of wires, her hands fall to her sides as her eyes widen and she stares at him with one part disbelief and two parts curiosity. He's slouched in the chair casually, absently fingering the condensation on his glass as he looks up at her with a soft expression that makes her heart pound and her stomach go flip-flop. He's all flannel and dark hair hidden under the baseball cap, just a regular guy except that really he's nothing of the sort. In her world, the guys she grew up with were all self-centered, arrogant and spoiled types like Christopher, who have had everything come so easily and have nothing to give in return.

Luke is something else – hard-working, decent and strong. And he believes in her and that belief makes her stronger too.

There's no denying it any more – she's falling for him; she's falling hard and fast. There's a voice somewhere in the back of her mind trying to tell her that there's something _not right_ here, but she doesn't listen, she _can't_ listen because all she can see, hear or feel is – just _him_.

"Luke," she says, a little breathless as she speaks his name, one syllable loaded with a world of questions. Then she feels herself take a step down and then another and then she pauses, self-conscious suddenly because he's still seated and she's not quite sure what she's doing. She takes a deep breath as her brain searches wildly for a pretext, but then she sees him make a move towards getting up too, so she takes the last step onto the ground. Steps towards him and that's when her foot catches on a string of lights and she stumbles, falling down onto her knees.

The only thing she can possibly do is laugh, so she starts with a nervous giggle that quickly evolves into a full belly laugh as she moves towards getting up, but before she can, she feels a hand on her waist, another on her arm, firm and yet gentle as he helps her to her feet.

"Are you OK?" he asks a little huskily, facing her now, his hand still on her arm. Her laughter quickly dies away. She wants to brush herself off but then he'd have to release his grip on her arm, so instead she takes a step closer as she nods, wide-eyed, into his shadowed gaze.

There's a tug on her arm and then his hand slides down to twine his fingers with hers as he draws her in closer. His other hand circles her waist as she reaches up to put a hand on his shoulder and then his face is in hers. Heart pounding, she wets her lips with a flick of the tongue, her eyes slide shut and she can feel his breath, warm and moist, mixing with hers.

He draws back.

He does it with a sharp intake of breath and then he stiffens and pushes her away roughly. "Sorry," he murmurs, his head bowed, fists clenched. She takes a step towards him and he backs away abruptly, like she's diseased or something.

And then he turns and strides back towards the Inn, pausing only to kick fiercely at a box in his path.

Helpless, she can only watch him go as she swallows hard against the lump in her throat.

_tbc_


End file.
